


Awake and Unafraid

by rebelwriter6561



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Canon and Timeline Shenanigans, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Found Family, Ghosts, I love that tag, Jon is the tapes, M/M, Monsters, Spiders, The Usual TMA Warnings Apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 66,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26270635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelwriter6561/pseuds/rebelwriter6561
Summary: Martin's new job at the Institute isn't what he was expecting. Along with Tim and Sasha, he's struggling with a disorganized Archive, no direction from their slightly-devious boss, and the growing feeling that they're in danger. Which is not helped by the cryptic warnings from a far too-knowing voice on an ancient tape recorder calling themselves the Archivist.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 79
Kudos: 286
Collections: RaeLynn's Epic Rec List





	1. 1.1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the AU that actually made me lose sleep. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
> 
> Besides my "canon-is-a-thing-that-happens-to-other-people" outlook, I'm also mangling the timeline slightly. Just go with it. I'll add additional warnings in the chapter notes for any that apply.

“Statement ends.” Martin let out a shaky breath. “Right. So. Follow up. Sasha and I did some follow up‒” God, that was stupid, he just repeated himself, but there was nothing to do but power on‒ “Obviously, no one else who investigated this case has come across this, uh, Anglerfish. Which points to it being a trick of the light, or Mister Watts actually seeing a person there and thinking that it’s… something else." Martin hesitated, before blurting out "Or it could be that there's some kind of kidnapping monster up in Scotland that Mister Watts managed to get away from." No reason not to include all the possible options. That was their job, after all.

"Um…that other fellow who went missing, John Fellows‒ he's still listed as a missing person, as well as several other people who vanished from Old Fishmarket Close between 2005 and 2010. Not sure if they're connected or not. We, ah, followed up with Nathan Watts, but all he had to tell us was that he no longer resides in Edinburgh, for obvious reasons, and hasn't encountered anything else strange in the past five years.

"And, uh. That's it. Recording ends.”

Martin pushed the stop button and leaned back in the chair, sighing heavily. It was a relief to be done, but besides that he felt oddly shaky, unsettled. It probably wasn't even a supernatural encounter, he tried to assure himself. Most of the statements were made up, and this had probably been one of them. Just a trick of the light and a list of coincidences.

But the whole time he'd been reading the statement, it had felt very real, like none of the others had. Almost like he'd been there, with Nathan, certain he was witnessing something horrible and dangerous and _wrong_.

It was nerves, it had to be. He’d recorded plenty of the other statements onto digital files over the last few weeks, but this statement had been one of the ones that had refused to format properly. Every attempt had resulted in static fuzz and garbled words, and there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to which statements wouldn’t record. It was frustrating, because it happened no matter what program they tried, or how often they had tested the microphone, or how often Sasha swore at them to submit. They just refused to record.

Finally, Sasha had unearthed a positively ancient tape recorder and stack of cassettes, and handed it off to him to give it a try. Because if analogue didn't work, then there was really no hope for Elias' plan to make the Archives accessible and they could focus on other things. Like organizing the mess of files and statements they faced. 

For whatever reason, dictating onto a physical format had made him feel much more stress than the digital recordings. That had to be it. Perhaps because if he messed up, fixing it wouldn’t be as simple as deleting a file ‒ there would be physical permanent evidence of his screw up. They'd have wasted tape on him, and that one screw up would lead to them realizing he didn't know anything about what he was doing and…he didn't want to think it.

Getting to his feet, Martin gave himself a shake to dismiss the odd feeling. It was nothing ‒ he’d completed the task, hopefully satisfactorily, and he could finally leave the empty echoing office where they recorded and rejoin the other assistants. Martin opened the door, and leapt at the sight of Tim’s face inches from his.

"All done in there?”

“Christ, Tim!” Martin pressed his hand to his heart, which was thudding painfully. “Why would you do that?”

“Thought I was a stranger in a dark alley?” Tim’s grin was positively evil. “Just wondering how our master dictator was doing.”

“It’s fine,” Martin mumbled, trying to edge past Tim without brushing up against him. “I've got it done, we don't have to worry about it any more, so‒”

“You’re done?” Sasha’s head popped up from her desk, where she’d been staring at a handwritten statement with bafflement. She waved him closer. “Come here, let’s hear it.”

“What, now?” Martin yelped, clutching the recorder to his chest. 

“Yes, now! How else would we know if you messed up or not?” Tim was grinning harder, if it was possible, and started pushing Martin towards Sasha’s desk.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Sasha said over Martin's protests, giving Tim a glare. “But if something did go wrong, wouldn’t you rather like to know now instead of in a couple of months, when some grad student comes down complaining that the tape is glitched or something?”

“And then they complain to their dad, who complains to the Dean, who complains to Elias, and he comes down here and gives you that 'look'?" Tim flourished his words with an exaggerated attempt at Elias's stare. Martin swallowed. He'd never been on the receiving end, but he'd been in Research when someone's lack of follow up had led to a member of the press writing a rather sharp article. The fallout had been…unpleasant. 

"Has that ever happened before?" he asked, trying to stall. 

"Not yet, but why invite the possibility?" Sasha made a grabby hand in his direction, and Martin reluctantly handed over the recorder. After all, she was so nice and encouraging, despite the fact that none of them knew what they were doing. And she was probably going to be his boss, once Elias, in Tim's words, "got his head out of his arse and made her the Head Archivist like he should." So when she gave an order, Martin did his best to comply. 

"You'll be honest, and tell me if I sound weird, right?" Martin asked nervously, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. It was all feeling a bit too real. He knew, of course he knew, that recording the statements meant that they would be listened to, but he'd been hoping it would be much later; some anonymous researcher mindlessly slogging through old statements. Not the closest people he had to friends. 

Sasha pressed the rewind button, not quite rolling her eyes but giving him an assuring look. "Your voice is fine, Martin, you've done enough digitizing by now. We just need to check the tape for any problems."

She had a point, and they were good points, but Martin was kicking himself for not checking when he was alone in the office. It wasn't that he was shy, but the way Tim was leaning up against Sasha's desk indicated that he wasn't leaving either, which meant he would definitely find this amusing. Martin knew that was just his way of having a bit of fun, but it wasn't his.

The recorder clicked, ending the whirring of the wheels, and Sasha pressed play.

"Statement of Nathan Watts, regarding an encounter on Old Fishmarket Close, Edinburgh. Original statement given‒"

Martin stared at the recorder in disbelief as the heavy feeling in his chest, which had just finally faded, returned in full force. His eyes snapped up to Tim, who looked confused, then to Sasha, who was looking baffled again. 

"Well, Martin," Tim slapped his shoulder, his smile a little too fake. "Didn't know you had it in you."

"That's‒ that's not me! That's not my voice!" The unexpected voice was nothing like he'd ever sounded in his life‒ too deep, too posh, too out of place. Definitely not him.

"Of course not," Sasha agreed distractedly. "Did you check if it was a new tape before you started recording?"

"No. But it was one of the ones you handed me this morning." He tried to keep the panic out of his voice. God, he hadn't checked, he’d just gone and recorded over someone else‒ 

"No, I checked those before I gave them to you. All clean." Frowning, Sasha hit rewind again.

"Oh. And‒ and I definitely started at the beginning of the tape," Martin remembered, then frowned as a thought occurred to him. "And that's the statement I read. So‒"

"Then that should be you on the recording," Tim echoed exactly what he was thinking. "How‒"

"Shush," Sasha hushed them, starting the recording again.

"Statement of Nathan Watts, regarding an encounter on Old Fishmarket Close, Edinburgh. Original statement given April twenty-second, 2012. Audio recording by the Archivist. Statement begins."

The speaker on the tape continued with the statement, but Martin wasn't paying attention. "The Archivist?" he echoed.

"Sounds like dear Gertrude had a bit of a cold while recording this one," Tim snickered.

"Don't be stupid, Tim." Sasha gave him a nudge, absently reaching for the statement file Martin still held. He handed it over, knowing she wanted to check the recording against the written statement. But he could already tell it was word-for-word the same, read out by someone who managed to give more personality to Nathan's voice than he ever could. "That's not her."

"Well then, who is it? That person on the tape called themself the Archivist, and that was Gertrude for like forty years." Tim shrugged. "Unless one of her assistants was playing a joke…”

“Gertrude didn’t have any assistants for the last five years,” Sasha shot him down. “And it’s a weird prank. He’s basically doing Gertrude’s job for her, I don’t…” she trailed off, pressing the fast forward button. “You recorded what follow-up we did, right Martin?”

“Ah, yes." Martin blinked. "Do you think it’ll be on there?”

"If it's not, I want to hear what this guy has to say. Might be something we don't know." There was a determined line growing between Sasha's eyes, the same one that showed up when she was deciphering an old book or trying to instill order in the Archive. The stubborn line of someone who wasn't letting the issue go. She lifted the finger, and the voice returned, speaking the last few lines of the statement. 

“Statement ends.” There was a pause, before the deep posh voice continued. “Between 2005 and 2010, the Anglerfish took six people from Old Fishmarket Close. Jessica McEwan, Sarah Baldwin, Daniel Rowlings, Ashley Dobbs and Megan Shaw, and John Fellows. Their current whereabouts, along with the Anglerfish’s, are currently unknown, although they, or at least whatever is inhabiting their bodies, are still active. Why the Stranger only took so few, and why it stopped when it did, is unknowable.

"Recording ends."

“That’s‒”

“Not what you said, I know.” Sasha was frowning in earnest at the recorder now. “That’s also not our research."

"Who's the stranger?" Tim asked, then shook his head. "Never mind, stupid question. We don't even know who this damn 'Archivist' is."

"Hmm." Sasha began rewinding the tape again, biting her lip. "Martin, was there anything…weird that happened when you were recording?"

"Weird like some phantom voice speaking over mine? No? Not that I noticed anyway." Besides the overall spooky feeling, but he felt that a lot in the Archives. It could be something, but‒ 

"I mean, go figure a place like this would be haunted." Tim crossed his arms. "Should probably take that thing up to Artifact Storage. Unless we want Martin possessed by some posh bloke."

"That would be horrible," Sasha dryly agreed. She ejected the tape and started looking it over. Tim slid the recorder closer and peered into its depths.

"I know some recorders let you record on both sides of the tapes, but…no, it's not clunky enough." He caught the look Martin shared with Sasha and rolled his eyes. "Millennials. Back in my day‒"

"You're like six years older than us, knock it off." 

“Whatever. Anyway, the big fancy ones will let you record on both sides without flipping the tape.” He and Martin watched as Sasha tried just that, flipping the tape and playing the second side. Nothing but silence. Not even Martin’s version of the statement.

“That is weird,” Sasha summed it up.

"Do we tell Elias? Martin asked nervously. That was the last thing he wanted to do, honestly, but the boss of a paranormal researcher facility should probably know about any activity happening under his roof.

"I'll talk to him," Sasha offered. "But let's see if we can't fix the issue without having to do an exorcism or something. I have no idea how to get one compensated." Martin chuckled along with Tim, trying not to feel relieved when Sasha took the recorder away. Haunted or not, he didn’t like reading statements on that thing. 

Hopefully that would be the last of it.

~*~

"Hey Tim?" Martin smiled sheepishly and held up his brand new recorder. "Would you mind, um, being a witness?"

"To what‒ oh." Tim caught sight of the file tucked under his arm. "Trying this again, are we?" 

"I mean, yeah, Elias wants 'due diligence' and all that." At least, that's what he guessed Sasha had meant when reiterating him. He didn't think Elias had been quite so colorful when Sasha had gone to him to explain the problems they'd had recording a good quarter of the statements. Without going into the whole "possibly haunted tape recorder" thing.

"Right." Tim pulled himself out of his desk chair. "How'd Sasha find a working tape recorder and cassettes in the twenty-first century anyway?"

"I guess she has her ways." Apparently they were still a thing, and could be found new and unused, along with cassette tapes still sealed in their boxes. No chance of having any creepy voice already staining the tape.

Tim followed him into the empty office, watching him put new batteries into the recorder and inserting a new tape. Just to be judiciously certain, Martin played the empty tape for a few moments. Nothing but the sound of soft static.

"Right." Martin adjusted the recorder on the desk, pulled the file close, and began to read as Tim took a seat in the spare chair. 

"Statement of Joshua Gillespie regarding his time in possession of an empty wooden casket. Original statement given November twenty-second, 1998. Audio recording by Martin Blackwood, archival assistant for the Magnus Institute.

"Statement begins."

Martin read through the whole statement, ignoring the feeling steadily creeping over his shoulders. It felt like he was being watched, even though Tim wasn't even looking at him, scrolling idly through his phone. But he was there, and he was listening, and there was no way someone else's voice was going to end up on the tape this time. Martin tried to let himself feel assured by that.

Tim looked up when he was finished reading the follow-up. “I like that guy,” he said with a smirk. “Just hanging out with a creepy singing coffin. What a trooper.”

“Yeah, sounds like it was real fun,” Martin idly agreed, already rewinding the tape. “Think we’ll hear the voice again?”

“I mean, logically, we shouldn’t. Removed all the variables and everything.” Tim shrugged and got out of his chair, coming over to lean against the desk. "But I don't think we'll be that lucky."

The frantic squealing from the rewinding wheels stopped, and the static hiss of the tape began when Martin pressed play. 

"Statement of Joshua Gillespie‒”

“Noooo,” Martin moaned, burying his face in his hands. That didn’t stop the deep posh voice on the tape from continuing with the statement. The voice that had no right to be there.

“Okay, that’s...” Tim had lost his usual half-smile, frowning in consideration. “I know we were joking about this place being haunted, but I don’t think it’s a joke anymore."

“How?” Martin asked desperately. “How is this possible?”

“It shouldn’t be possible. Logically, it’s impossible.” Martin blinked at the seriousness in Tim’s voice. “So that means it’s something impossible. Like a ghost.” He shrugged. "Which, I mean, that's only impossible if you don't believe. And I'd certainly believe this if I wasn't convinced before."

“I mean…you said it last time, it would figure that this place is haunted.” Martin looked around, like he could see some spectral shape in the corner. “I believe it too.”

"Doesn't explain what he's doing on the tape." Tim's finger angrily jabbed the fast-forward button. "Weird hobby for a ghost, unless it's deliberately messing with us."

He let up on the button, allowing the last minute of the statement to play out, spoken in a stranger's voice.

“Statement ends." Another pause, then the voice continued. "The man known as 'John' conducted this scam across the continent for ten years prior to Mister Gillespie's involvement and meeting his untimely end. Without a destination to deliver to, and no other purpose to follow, the Coffin is still being carried around by Breekon and Hope. Mister Gillespie has moved away from Bournemouth and further away from the Buried's influence by designing and building skyscrapers.

Recording ends.”

Martin shared a look with Tim. “How does he know that? The part about the coffin still being carried around? We never were able to find anything out about the delivery guys." But the Archivist's voice had been so certain, almost with a touch of humor, like it was funny to him but no one else could see the joke. 

"He's got that bit right, about Gillespie building skyscrapers now." Tim wrinkled his nose. "Weird that he didn't say anything about the rest of the apartment building being empty, cause that never made sense to me. I don't wanna say he's right about the rest of it, but‒"

"But why would he make it up?" Martin swallowed hard. The dread-heavy pit in his stomach was nowhere close to fading. He had a bad feeling it would become a permanent sensation soon.

"Why tell the truth? Why tell us any of it?!" Tim was frustrated now, glaring down at the piece of technology betraying them. "It's a bit weird if this is his 'unfinished business' or whatever reason he's hanging around for. Unless he's trying to warn us about all the weird crap. Which, really didn't need to, you know what I mean?"

"Right," Martin agreed hesitantly. He'd never had an encounter like anything that had happened in one of the statements, but that didn't mean the others hadn't. He also didn't want to pry. "So, what do we do? Just…heed his cryptic warnings?"

Tim made a face at that. "If it were up to me we'd stop this nonsense right now and never touch the recorders again." He sighed. "But you know what Elias said. And unless Sasha can come up with something better to record on, we just have to keep using the haunted tapes."

Martin swallowed at the idea. He knew that when Tim said "we" he really meant "Martin". "Do you think we should let her know? That this is still happening, so it's pretty definitely haunted?"

"I mean, I know she's a skeptic, but only if there's no proof. This seems like enough proof for anyone but the deliberately ignorant." He shook his head. "I don't like this. It feels dangerous, but I can't figure out what it's up to. So…" Tim cocked his head, drumming his fingers against his arm as he thought. "Just…be careful with these. Record with the door open, do your own research, don't just trust what he tells you. Be smart about this." 

Tim was right. His words were an assurance, enough to make Martin relax slightly. It felt nice to have someone looking out for him.

Of course, it was ruined when a grin slid back on Tim's face. "Besides, if you get eaten by a tape recorder, then I'll have to read the statements. You don't want to force that on me, do you?" He was back to the jokey friendly guy that Martin knew so well. Martin chuckled along with him, following him out of the empty office. He only noticed he was still carrying the recorder when he sat down at his own desk.

~*~

Martin was not a clever man.

He knew it as a fact. His mother had stressed it for him a hundred times, he had the gaps in his education to prove it, he’d fumbled his way through this job long enough to know it for certain. He recognized when he had reached the point of knowing what there was to know, when he knew he wasn’t going to understand anything further so there really wasn't a point in trying. When to just shrug and accept whatever fact or mystery that life had presented him with.

That was the point he had reached regarding the Archivist situation.

It wasn't that he wasn't afraid. He had what he felt was a healthy trepidation towards whatever or whoever was behind them making the tapes talk. Especially given that it was his voice that the Archivist was making disappear. That actually didn't bother him that much, but he knew it should. He should want to stop. He should be more afraid than he was. But he wasn't.

Being afraid wasn't going to make the situation any better. Not recording wasn't an option, it was his _job_. No matter how strange it got, he had to keep doing it, otherwise…well, his job prospects hadn't improved much, with the niche skills he'd picked up at the Institute next to worthless in the real world. And even those niche skills were no match for Tim and Sasha's experience. 

He knew he wasn't going to be the one to solve the mystery, not while they were around. He knew Tim was regarding the recorders and any tapes it produced with deep suspicion. Always checking in with Martin after he was done recording. Sasha was diving into the Institute’s employee records, trying to figure out who the “Archivist” was, asking him questions about what he felt or what they had said. Tim and Sasha were the smart ones- they were handling it. It was his job to support them, so he did, fetching tea and biscuits and whatever research they asked for. He was good at that.

It wasn't that he didn't want to know. He was the one "working" the closest to the Archivist, after all. Tim refused to go near the recorders, and Sasha's attempt had resulted in the same as Martin's‒ with her being very creeped out and the Archivist talking over her on the recording. Or maybe it had been the statement that creeped her out. The idea of a dark figure crawling in your window and utterly replacing you would creep out anyone.

There was nothing about the Archivist that could be dug up. According to the Institute records, the Archivist before Gertrude had been very old and very Scottish. The records before him were harder to uncover, since they were never digitized, but the ones they came up with didn't seem like likely candidates for their ghost. Martin wasn't sure who was more disappointed about the lack of answer there.

There was also the tape recorder. Martin tried to put it away after every recording, tucking it into a drawer in the spare desk in the empty office. But sometimes, he found it on a shelf in Document Storage, or on his desk after coming back from lunch. It had to be the same recorder, because it was always missing from the drawer when he put it away, and Tim and Sasha swore they never touched it. Just moving about on its own like it had a right to do so.

It could be a prank. Martin couldn't imagine who it could be behind it, they were pretty isolated from the rest of the building in the basement. Rosie was the only one who consistently came down to the Archives, but she didn't seem like the culprit, for obvious reasons. He wouldn't put it past some of Tim's friends up in Research, but he also couldn't imagine anyone keeping it going after hearing Tim go off about it.

Then again, he'd never really had a close enough friend to prank before. He didn't really know where the line was drawn.

There was really nothing he could do, so he just kept on as he had before. Fetching tea and biscuits, doing follow-ups with previous statement-givers, and digging into whatever research he could. And now he added "talking to the Archivist" to his list of duties. 

It wasn't really so bad, once the creepy feeling faded after he was done. It was something he could _do_ , something even he couldn't mess up, and if he did, no one would ever know but the Archivist. He didn't even have to do a good job, as the Archivist spoke over any stumbles or mistakes he made. That reassurance was almost enough to make it worth it.

Besides that, the way the Archivist spoke…it was almost compelling. Martin found himself listening to statements he had already recorded, just to hear the Archivist's voice. There wasn't anything wrong with that, he told himself, noting where the Archivist's voice changed from stiff and formal to a completely different tone for the statement-givers. And then back to cold and detached at the end to convey whatever information he deemed important, even if very little of it made sense.

Martin took notes on the Archivist's "research" at the end of the statements, despite Tim's warning not to trust what he said. He looked into anything that was different from what they'd found, and was quite unsurprised to find, when he could find anything, that the Archivist had been right about what he said. Because of course he was. Martin had a feeling the Archivist was much better at his job than he was, even while being dead.

It was fine. It wasn't really, but like most things in his life that _weren't_ fine, he could smile and pretend that it was. He could do the dreaded task when no one else would, because that was all he was good for. Dangerous or not, mysterious and puzzling and frustrating, he would still complete the task set for him. It really didn't matter if he was scared or…uncertain about it. It was his job and he would do it.

Because if he didn't, then what good was he?

~*~

"Did you just say Leitner?"

Martin made a noise like a squashed hiccup in surprise. He'd been so focused on the statement he was reading that he hadn't noticed Sasha in the doorway. 

"Uh, yes?"

Sasha frowned. "I thought you did, but I didn't recognize the name of the book." She turned and walked away from him, and Martin only had time to wonder if he should go back to reading the statement before she was back, flipping through a handful of papers. "I'm pretty sure it's not on the catalog list they provided back when he went missing." 

"Oh." Martin was seized with a brief flash of concern, then remembered the statement. "This book doesn't exist anymore, though. It gets burned at the end of the statement. That's why I didn't let you know right away." That, and he hadn't been aware that it was something bad, but Sasha didn't need to know that.

Sasha looked up at him, the frown dropping off her face. "Oh, that's a relief." Her eyebrows still frowned in puzzlement as she looked back down at her list. "Not great that it's not on the list though. That means there might be more of his books floating around still."

"And that's…bad," Martin agreed. Of course it was bad, there were enough warnings around the ones in the Library and Artifact Storage upstairs, he should have known he should be keeping an eye out for errant Leitners, not just assuming it was safe and fine during his brief research into the statement. Assuming anything about any of the monsters or weird events in statements was bad.

Sasha blew out her breath, tossing the pack of papers onto the desk. "Well, let me know when you're done. I really wanna hear what the Archivist says about this one."

"It's…it's almost done. If you want to stay?" Why not have her stick around? He always felt like he was being watched when he read the statements anyway. Sasha smiled and dropped into the spare chair, watching intently as Martin continued the statement. The weight of her gaze barely bothered him‒ it was nothing compared to what else he could feel. The fear and uncertainty of the man who discovered the Leitner, the cold analytical feeling of being watched by something _else_ , and now his own worry that there were more Leitners out there that they didn't know about.

Sasha's gaze grew more intense as Martin finished reading the statement. Her eyes seemed to bore into him as he went over the brief follow-up he'd done, and as he began to rewind the tape, an almost-eager look lit up her eyes. They both listened as the Archivist read through the entire statement, exactly the way Martin had. At the end came the now-familiar pause, and the Archivist began speaking again. But this time, the normally detached voice he used for follow-up information sounded strained. 

" _Ex Altiora_ was an eighteenth-century original work, regarding a small mountain town and the unknown creature advancing upon it. The woodcut pictures included within were all added afterwards over time, by those who gave themselves over to the Vast. _Jurgen Leitner_ acquired it at great cost in the late Eighties, but unfortunately never succumbed to it's effects. 

"After Gerry burned _Ex Altiora_ , Mister Swain continued his technical theater career with no further incidents from the Vast or the other Entities. Jurgen Leitner's location and condition is still unknown. Although, if he is still alive, I deeply wish he wasn't. Recording ends."

After a shocked pause, Sasha barked a startled laugh. "Wow, Archivist. Tell us how you really feel."

Martin could only say "wow" in a hushed voice. He'd never heard such venom directed at anyone like that before. More than that, he'd never heard the Archivist sound so heated. He'd been imagining an impartial and impassive presence, but after hearing that… "Do you think he _knew_ Leitner?"

Sasha laughed again. "He knows _of_ him, that's for sure. And I don't think he liked what he knows." She tilted her head, eyeing the recorder like it was a puzzle. "Why Leitner though? I mean, he's talked about people-stealing fish and shadow creatures with no problem. What's Leitner done that's worse than that?" Her voice was pointed, an obvious question. Martin wasn't sure if she expected an answer out of him, or the Archivist. Or if she was just airing her thoughts.

Sasha's gaze drifted over to the file, and she frowned again. "I'm surprised he didn't say anything about Mary Keay either, since she's apparently a ghost as well." When Martin made a choked noise she rolled her eyes at him. "Or she's something, that's obvious. Why not mention her?" Her sigh was definitely frustrated. "I hate how his answers raise more questions. How does he even _know_ what he knows? It's not like he could do research in the twenty minutes of statement‒" 

"He's a ghost, Sasha," Martin cut her off. "I don't think that matters."

"It does though." Sasha began to pace, a strangely agitated look on her face. "How does he know some things for sure but not others? How does he even _know_ these things if he's dead, and why's it so important that he has to stick around to tell us? _Something_ is going on, and I want to know what."

"I know!" Martin hurriedly agreed with her, hoping that would stop the pacing. "I know! I agree with you, but… Do you really think it's a good idea to go digging?" His hands fisted the sleeves of his jumper. "It's like Tim was saying‒ I mean, I don't believe the Archivist is really dangerous, but those things in the statements, they are. Believer or not, you have to know there are _bad things_ out there."

"Of course I believe it." Sasha shot him an angry hurt look. "I worked in Artifact Storage, remember? After seeing all of that, and all of this, who wouldn't believe?" She ducked her head, staring down at the recorder. "But I want to know why he's not like those things. I want to know what's going on, I want to know where this Archivist came from, I want‒" she cut herself off with an angry sigh. "I want to know why Gertrude never said anything about having a ghost coworker. I mean, you'd think she would have mentioned it? Or left a sticky note on the recorder saying 'Do Not Use'."

Martin nodded, looking down at the recorder on the desk. Had they not turned it off after hearing the Archivist's research? He couldn't remember, but the wheels were still turning, like it was listening in. 

"I hate not having answers," Sasha sighed with a shake of her head. "I know Tim wants to leave it alone, and you're fine just letting it be." Before Martin could protest that that wasn't true, not really, she pushed away from the desk. "But I'm not. It's a mystery, and I'm gonna get to the bottom of it." Turning on her heel, Sasha stalked out of the office. "Just watch me!"

Martin sighed. "I know," he agreed, even though she wasn't there. "I know you will." He looked down at the recorder. "That's fine," he told himself, hoping the unsettled feeling in his stomach would settle. "It's fine. Everything's fine."

Maybe if he said it enough times he'd believe it.

~*~

“Experiment time!” Sasha yelled from her desk as Martin emerged from the empty office.

“Oh, Sasha!” Tim clasped his hands dramatically to his chest. “I thought you’d never ask!”

“Not with you,” Sasha sent a playful glare his way, causing him to slump in defeat. “Martin. I want you to try something.”

“Please be gentle?” he asked, not sure what to expect. He was about seventy percent sure they were joking about something, but he was still feeling off after reading the latest statement. Which had already been an odd one in the first place, with the couple who had gotten together and…well…

The original statement-giver hadn’t gone into detail exactly what had happened, and Martin could have thanked him for that. Except that the Archivist had done it for him. Besides giving a gruesome description of what happened to the woman, the Archivist had also gone off about the person, or, "Flesh-Hive" as he called it, who's attack had started the whole thing. It almost sounded like an incident he had heard about up in Research, but worse. Because instead of whispered office rumour and speculation, the Archivist had sounded so absolutely certain about everything.

“It’s fine,” Sasha assured him, gesturing him over with a wave of her hand. “Just getting to the bottom of our little Archivist situation.” She scooped a file off her desk and flapped it towards him. “I’m pretty sure this is a false statement. My thinking is, if the statements the Archivist talks over are the real ones‒”

“Are we for sure saying that?” Tim asked. “Don't get me wrong, all the weird things happening in those statements‒ I'm sure some of them really did happen. But that doesn't mean the ones Joe Spooky is talking over are real."

"That's what we're testing, Tim." Sasha pointedly cut him off. "If he doesn't talk over an obviously fake statement then that lends some credence to the ones he does being real." She shrugged. "It would make sense that a paranormal Archivist has a line on properly paranormal incidents. I think that's what he's trying to do, anyway."

"Right," Tim agreed, "but at what point do we draw the line at messing around with a ghost?" Despite his relaxed position, feet propped up on his desk, Tim's face was very serious. "I mean, this is kinda like playing with an ouija board, isn't it? We don't know who or what the Archivist is, or that we can believe what he's saying. That could be his whole scheme, trying to trick us into thinking he's on our side when really one of these days he's going to possess Martin and set the place on fire or something. We can't just play along with this guy."

He had a point. Martin watched Sasha consider it, blinking and frowning at the recorder he still held. It probably was dangerous‒ he could think of at least a dozen statements that proved Tim's point exactly. He really should be agreeing with him, since he was the one reading the statements, the one in the most potential danger. But…

"It doesn't feel bad," he admitted, then scrambled to explain when they both looked at him. "I mean, yeah, it's a bit weird, knowing when I'm done recording it won't be my voice at the end. But it doesn't feel like he wants to hurt us." He didn't know how he could feel so certain, but he was. "It feels like he's looking out for us, with everything he's telling us in the statements. Like there's something much bigger going on that he's warning us about." He had no idea where that idea had come from, but as soon as he said it he believed it. It really lined up with some of the cryptic things the Archivist spouted off about.

"That would make sense, if he is the Archivist," Sasha spoke slowly, but Martin could hear the confidence in her voice. "That means he's our boss, right?" She injected some false positivity into her voice. "And I'm sure our boss would always have our best interests in mind." 

Tim's bitter snort as Martin finally took the file was answer enough. He returned to the empty office as Tim continued to argue with Sasha. He hoped that she was right, and this was a fake statement. If it wasn't…he didn't know how he would feel after two possibly real statements in one day.

As it turned out, his worries were unfounded. Martin knew about two lines in that it was certainly fake, even if the story seemed more logical than some of the others he'd recorded. There was no accompanying feeling in the center of his spine, no sense that he was being watched. The Archivist wouldn't say a word about it.

It should have felt like relief. 

Martin finished quickly, rattling off the follow-up that disproved the statement entirely. Rather than go out to Tim and Sasha right away, he took the time to rewind and listen to the recording by himself, just to hear his suspicions confirmed. It was only his voice on the tape.

"You're not really out to get us, are you?" he asked the empty air. "I mean, what would that do for you, except maybe get you some company?" He idly ran his fingernail over the ridges of the recorder, thinking. It felt warm under the pads of his fingers, like a living, breathing thing. Martin snorted at the thought. That was silly. The Archivist was a ghost, at best, and the recorder was just plastic and metal. Not really alive and listening to him.

"Maybe you just want someone to talk to?" Martin ventured. "If I was in your position I'd take any chance I could to have a chat. Especially since you're so clever, knowing so much about what's really happening." He sighed, watching his fingers trace lines over the plastic. "I hope you are looking out for us. I mean, obviously, otherwise Tim's right and I should really stop talking to you." He tried to say it with a laugh, but it fell flat. He was so tired of the mystery, the uncertainty. Of not knowing who to listen to and trust.

"I wish you could tell us what's really going on. I know you know, and I think you're trying, but…right now it just seems like we have more questions than answers. We don't even know who or what you are, or those things in the statements." He sighed again. "Can't you just tell us? Please?"

He let the tape run for a few seconds, not daring to hope, then rewound to listen to his words again. All that followed was silence. There was no response. 

Of course there wasn’t. Martin groaned and got up from the chair. Sitting there and talking to himself wouldn't get him anywhere. 

~*~

“Excuse me?”

Martin looked up and jumped with shock. He hadn’t heard the woman coming down the stairs, and she was now awkwardly standing in the doorway. From the way Sasha quickly jumped to her feet and hurried over, it seemed she hadn’t noticed her either. Stammering apologies, she led the woman past Martin’s desk, towards the Archivist’s office. 

“Martin, would you‒ tea?” she asked over her shoulder and pointed towards the break room. Martin nodded and quickly got to his feet. If anyone needed tea, it was certainly that woman. She looked very lost, pulling into herself like the Archives were too large to handle. He could understand that. Most statement-givers that Rosie sent directly to them weren't in the best of shape in the first place, and the Archives were spooky at best.

She seemed like a person who would like their tea sweet, so Martin added sugar and a dash of milk to her mug. It was fairly unimpressive, as far as talents went, but he'd always been good at guessing how people liked their tea. With Tim and Sasha and the steadily rotating cast of caregivers for his mother, he could learn their tea inclinations through trial and error, but for one-time visitors and guests, he could usually guess close enough to suffice. It was a little thing, but he was proud of it.

Sasha had the woman seated in the chair before the desk in the Archivist's office, tapping at her laptop with a frown. She blinked at the screen, then up at him as he walked in. “It’s not recording,” she sighed regretfully.

Martin felt the familiar lurch in his stomach. “Oh.”

“What...what does that mean?” The woman was looking between the two of them, a concerned look on her face. 

Sasha stood with a sigh. “That means I leave you in Martin’s capable hands. He’s the one that handles the tape recorder."

"Do you really think‒"

"Yes, Martin, I do." Sasha gave him a look and a pointed glance at the tea in his hand. He swiftly put it down. "You can record Ms. Hearn's statement the old fashioned way, and we'll worry about transcribing later," she said easily, as if this were only a minor technical problem they were dealing with, not a supernatural one. 

“Right,” he agreed, holding the door open for Sasha as she left. It was fine, he told himself as he moved to the other side of the desk to take the recorder from its drawer. It wasn’t like the ghost would be speaking over the statement-giver in person. She would never know, as long as she didn’t ask to hear the recording before she left. There was no way she'd be able to tell something unusual was going on.

The recorder was already running when he opened the drawer. Martin swallowed, staring at the turning wheels. Sasha hadn't said anything about starting it before he'd come in, he hadn't even _touched_ the thing, but there it was, merrily recording away. 

Gingerly, Martin took it out, hoping Ms. Hearn wouldn't notice. “Here we go,” he said with false lightness, placing it on the desk. God, it was already warm. “Bit old fashioned, but‒”

“Really? Does that thing even work?” Ms. Hearn gave the recorder a disdainful look. “You actually want me to tell my story into that rattling piece of junk?”

“It works just fine,” Martin defended automatically. “Sometimes it’s not worth fussing with computers, that recording software is so finicky and it’s nice to have something reliable around. You know, something that you know works." She couldn't know he was rambling because of nervousness. She couldn't know anything was wrong.

"This is ridiculous," she huffed. She had no idea. "This whole thing is ridiculous. I mean, I'm not even sure I should be here." Her voice quieted, growing more uncertain. "I was distraught. I could have imagined the whole thing. I probably should go‒"

"I, well, you could," Martin agreed. "It's up to you, you don't have to give a statement if you don't want to.” That would be perfect, if she changed her mind and didn’t give a statement at all. But the look on her face was too sad, too strained. He didn't know what was wrong, but she'd no doubt gone through something traumatic, if she had ended up in the Archives. “Maybe it'll help though? Just to talk about it with someone."

She sighed, looking like it was the last thing she wanted to do. "Alright. I suppose it can't make things worse."

"Ah, good." Martin adjusted the recorder on the desk and walked back around the desk. "So, I’ll just let you get on with it‒”

“Can you stay? Please?” Ms. Hearn suddenly asked, the lost look she’d been wearing when she first walked in appearing again. "I don't‒ I don't want to be alone right now."

"Oh? Oh, alright, I can‒ yes, I'll stay." Martin sunk into the chair behind the desk, feeling very awkward. He'd never done a live statement before. As Ms. Hearn‒ Naomi‒ began her story, Martin felt like he should be doing something, like taking notes or looking professional. Anything other than just sit there.

That inclination was swiftly lost as she continued her statement. He could only listen, rooted by the feeling in his spine. There was nothing overtly strange to start with, just a tragic life cut short, but for the life of him he couldn't stop listening, couldn't look away. He had to sit there and listen to her, and it felt the exact same way it did when he began a statement, like he had to finish what had been started. A captive audience. 

Was this how the Archivist felt?

And then she got to the point in her story where things began to go off, and that knowing feeling awoke in his chest, settling there like a heavy and troublesome cat. Sasha had been right, this was one of _those_ statements, and the Archivist was sure to have words to say about it. He didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Besides that, he felt immensely sad for Naomi. What she had gone through may not have physically hurt her, but she was hurting, he could feel the ache in his own chest. He couldn't imagine loving someone so much, and losing them like that. How horrible it had to feel to be so alone.

“Okay, statement ends, I guess," Martin said when she finished. He pressed the stop button, but as soon as he removed his finger the record button depressed itself again, keeping the wheels spinning. Oh dear. He covered it with his hands, hoping she hadn't noticed. "Thank you, Ms. Hearne, for your time. We'll do some research and look into that stone for you. If you want to leave your contact information‒"

“You believe me, don’t you?” Naomi asked abruptly, looking up at him desperately. The confident tone from her statement had faded into a quiet softness, her face vulnerable again.

“I‒ yes. Of course I do,” Martin answered, completely honestly. Naomi crumpled in her chair, tears springing to her eyes. "Oh! Oh god I'm so sorry‒" oh no, what had he done she was _crying_ where were the tissues in this room‒

"No! No, I'm okay," Naomi hiccuped, wiping under her eyes as he scrambled frantically for anything to help. "It's just‒ everything's been so strange, and it's like I'm walking around wrapped in a thick quilt, like nothing's really real, and I thought I had dreamt the whole thing up somehow‒"

"No, I‒ I genuinely believe what happened to you." He had no idea where the certainty came from, but he felt it, the same way he felt the knowledge that the Archivist's voice would be on the tape when they were done. Martin moved around the desk, kneeling at her side and resting his hand gently on her arm. "Have you‒ have you talked to anyone else about this?"

"Not really? I talked to some other paranormal investigators but I could tell they didn't really believe me. I mean, who would?" Naomi sniffed.

"Well, I do, for a start. And, there might be others, other people who would understand what you're going through. And‒ and I know‒ I didn't even know him, but…I'm sure Evan would have believed you."

Oh God why had he said _that_? Naomi looked up at him, and he was fully expecting a slap or an outburst. But she sighed, shakily, and nodded. "He would have. You're right, he really would have believed me." The sadness in her voice was so strong he wanted to give her a hug, but he knew that would be out of line.

"You don't have to go into everything like you have here, but I really think you need to talk to someone about losing Evan," he suggested. A friend, a therapist, _anyone_. "This isn't something you can keep inside."

Naomi nodded in agreement, looking sad and resigned. "I think it did help, this time, talking to you. Thank you." Martin gently rubbed her arm, internally brushing her thanks away into the back of his mind. He didn't need to feel accomplished about convincing her to get help‒ seeing her move in a better direction was good enough.

At some point during their conversation, the recorder had turned off on it's own. Martin grabbed it from the desk before escorting Naomi from the Archives once she had collected herself. On the way out, he promised to follow up with her about her case, doing everything he could to get to the bottom of it. She agreed, even if her words sounded faint again. Martin wondered if it would be overstepping to call just to check up on her.

Sasha watched her leave, waiting until the door at the top closed with a slam, before whirling to Martin. “Let’s hear it,” she said eagerly. 

Startled, Martin handed over the recorder, feeling the unease bubble up again in his stomach. “I didn’t listen to it while she was here. I wasn’t sure if we wanted to risk it‒” he stopped when Sasha hit play, holding his breath. It started with Martin's rambling, his words with Naomi, before-.

“Statement of Naomi Hearne, regarding the‒” 

“Oh.” Sasha cocked her head. “That’s…that’s not him.”

It wasn’t. It was just Naomi’s voice, telling her story exactly as she had. Martin slumped, something like relief coursing through him. "Maybe it wasn't real after all," he murmured to himself. 

It tasted like a lie even as he remembered the piece of stone she'd brought, the total certainty that he'd felt while she had been speaking. What had happened to her had been very real.

"Hmm." Sasha's hum sounded just as disbelieving. "Maybe it's just you? Or maybe because she was recording it live, instead of you just reading it."

"Why me?" Martin asked quickly, to hide the unexpected emotion he felt at her suggestion. It almost felt like…jealousy. "There's nothing special about me, why's he talking over me?"

"Maybe he likes you?" Sasha offered with a small grin. "Probably more than he'd like me or Tim." Her jab at the fast-forward button seemed almost vicious, and Martin had to resist the urge to yank the recorder back.

“Okay, statement ends, I guess.” There was an abrupt pause after Martin's words on the tape, which he didn’t remember being there, before the deep posh voice of the Archivist began.

"Naomi Hearne is one of the lucky ones. Escaping the Lukas seat of power is impressive enough, as well as having the strength to pull away long enough to give a statement. The Lonely's hold on Ms. Hearne was weakened by the love of Evan Lukas, which shows once again that a simple human emotion can overcome an Entity's influence. Only time will tell if Ms. Hearne can continue to evade the hold, as the Lonely is the most insidious and draining of them all. Recording ends."

Sasha blew a raspberry. "Helpful as always Archivist," she grumbled. 

Martin couldn't bring himself to speak. The Archivist had sounded so…well, he'd really sounded like he normally did, and Martin was just imagining the quiet melancholy in his voice. But he couldn't help but think that he'd felt something, just like Martin had.

Sasha walked off, taking the recorder to file away the tape and put the recorder away, and Martin had to fight the urge to call her back. It didn't feel quite right, going back to his desk and finding something else to work on. He felt like he needed tea and a warm jumper. And stupidly, he felt like he needed to offer the Archivist the same.

Martin slumped forward, resting his head against the cool wood of his desk. He needed to calm down, get a grip. He was getting too invested in this Archivist situation, and he knew that was bad, he could feel it. There was no way it would end well, especially considering how attached he was getting to a ghost. One that may or may not be dangerous. 

Maybe he should get his CV out again, add this job to the list and start looking. He'd have to start right away, somehow find some job that paid just as well, that he could actually do, that wouldn't consume his every waking hour until it drained the life from him. God, his stomach was cramping just at the thought. 

He could hear something on the periphery of his awareness. Turning his head, he spotted a recorder sitting on the corner of his desk. It wasn't the ancient one he'd handed off to Sasha, or the new one she'd bought weeks ago. This one was a smaller portable version, simple and silver. He didn't recognize it, but it was recording. Martin stared at it, wondering how long it had been on. Had the Archivist heard everything?

"You know all about being lonely, don't you?" he asked softly. His hand reached out to rest against the plastic case, feeling it hum with activity. "All these years, no one to talk to, and even now you can't really talk about anything except that horrible stuff." He sighed. "I'd be lonely too, in your place." 

His fingers ran over the smooth plastic, over and over. "But you've got us here now. That's gotta help, right?"

There was no answer, there never was. But Martin could imagine his words reaching the Archivist, and maybe it helped. Martin hoped it did.

~*~

Reading the statements was becoming almost familiar.

Martin couldn’t say he was getting used to it, not when each statement came with it's own heavy dose of horror. Not when every time he was done, he could rewind the tape and hear someone else tell him exactly what he'd said and more, detailing exactly how horrible the experience really was. He didn't think that was something he could ever get used to, or _should_ ever get used to. 

But sometimes, once he was done taking down the Archivist's information, he just sat there with the recorder, asking the questions on his mind or telling it about what he had done the night before. Because…well, he didn't really have a reason besides sharing with the Archivist. Because he couldn't imagine anything more lonely than being dead, and only hearing about the suffering of others, and the only way he could communicate was to recount more about that suffering. 

If he were the Archivist, he'd definitely like a break to hear about what had happened on his favorite cooking program the previous night.

Martin was halfway through the statement he was reading ‒ criminals and revenge and fingers falling off ‒ when the recorder abruptly stopped. The snap of wheels halting made him jump so hard he nearly fell out of his seat.

"What?" He asked confusedly, uselessly, hands coming up to rest on the large tape deck. It was warm, which he was used to, but it was…was it vibrating? A minute oscillation, like a normal computer tower as it ran. Not doing anything, but still awake. The other one, the new silver one that really seemed to follow him around the Archives, was also running, but now a slight squealing sound was coming from the spinning wheels. It was just enough to put Martin on edge.

Martin was about to try pressing the record button again when he suddenly became aware of the noises outside of the partially-closed door. Tim’s voice, and Sasha's, and... Elias. 

_Elias can’t know about the recorders._

Martin didn’t know where the thought that seared through his brain had come from, but it spurred him into movement like a shock. He scrambled for the larger recorder, slipping it into the top drawer before abruptly reconsidering. The bottom drawer was full of haphazardly stacked papers, and he lifted a handful and slid the recorder under them. Just in case Elias checked.

Why was he suddenly very concerned about that?

The smaller recorder he slipped into his button-down’s pocket, under his jumper. Hopefully Elias wouldn’t notice the bulge. Incriminating evidence hidden away, he picked up several books from the floor, opening them at random and spreading them across the desk. He grabbed a notebook, flipped to a page of half-written notes, and grabbed a pen. Then he forced himself to sit idly, tapping the pen against his cheek, staring at the books but unable to read them. He was far too wound up with anticipation.

_Can't show any sign of anything amiss. Just a normal research session._

Martin looked up when the door opened, and feigned surprise when Elias stepped in. "Oh, hi Elias."

"Hello Martin." Elias's gaze swept the room. "I do hope you're not isolating yourself from your coworkers for any personal reasons."

"No, of course not, everything's lovely." Martin tried to keep the tremble out of his voice. Elias couldn't know how he was lying. He'd lied his way through his interview, he could lie through this. "Just more room to spread out in here, and it's quieter, easier to focus."

"I see." Were his boss's eyes resting on his face or his chest? Martin fought the urge to cross his arms. "And how are you finding the new job?" 

"It's very interesting! Not just the encounters, but the history you can dig up related to them. Like, this last statement, its probably one of the oldest in here, from a Albrecht von Closen‒" Elias blinked at the name, and Martin would never have noticed if he hadn't been so focused. He continued regardless. "His statement was about the Black Forest area, and, did you know, the literal translation of Schwarzwald is actually Blackwood! Yeah. I just found that kinda interesting so I kept digging into it‒"

"Yes, I'm aware," Elias cut him off. "Hopefully you're not doing your own research project on company time?" He raised an expectant eyebrow, and Martin scrambled. 

"No! No, of course not, it just came up in a statement and I thought 'oh that's interesting' but I haven't really looked into it more than that‒" stop talking for the love of God stop. "And, uh, yeah," he finished lamely. 

"Well, that's good to hear." Elias's lips curled into a smile. He moved like he was about to leave before abruptly turning back. "There was one other thing I wanted to bring up with you."

Martin's heart thudded. He knew. 

"A Ms. Naomi Hearn reached out to me the other day, impressing on me just how kind and thoughtful my employees were." Despite the widening smile, his eyes were cold. "Seems that you made a positive impact with her."

"Oh! That was…that was nice of her!" That wasn't what he'd been expecting at all. 

"Indeed." Was Elias staring at the research spread out on the desk, or was he looking through it, at the large recorder. Martin wanted to shake himself to dismiss the thought, but he couldn't move. His boss didn't have x-ray vision. There was nothing malicious about him. Martin was just really put off by the recorder's reactions to him.

If Elias knew his thoughts, he didn't let anything slip. He turned and made his way to the office doorway, and Martin stood and followed as he smiled and addressed the other assistants.

"Well. Everything seems to be going perfectly well down here." Elias said brightly. "You've all been doing a splendid job. I'm looking forward to watching the three of you grow into your new jobs, and how the next few years will proceed‒" 

"Are we going to be getting a proper Head Archivist at some point?" Tim cut Elias off, staring at him intently. Elias blinked over at him, a slight frown on his face.

"I don't feel that it’s necessary at this point," he said evenly. "As I said, you've all been doing very well without one. I believe you can handle any statements that come in without an Archivist being here." Martin's chest felt tight at the words. He knew. Sasha and Tim didn't say anything, but Martin knew they knew too.

"Anything else?" Elias seemed unaware of the tension in the room. "No? Good. Keep up the good work, and don't hesitate to let me know about any issues you may have." His gaze definitely lingered on Martin as he left.

Martin heaved a heavy sigh, then winced when something hot stung his chest. It was the recorder, and he hissed as he gingerly pulled it from his pocket. The squealing noise had faded, but the plastic was nearly burning his fingers.

"You guys felt that, right?" Sasha looked between the two of them. 

"The unwelcoming atmosphere and how damn smug Elias was about everything?" Tim offered. "Sure did. You think he knows what's going on?"

"Yes," Martin agreed at the same time Sasha said "absolutely." Judging from Tim's frown and sigh, he believed it too, and he wasn't happy about it.

"Great," he muttered. "Elias is no help, or he'd have given us a warning or something. Gertude's dead and the only one who can tell is what's really going on won't talk about anything other than statements." He glared at the recorder in Martin's hand, and he resisted the urge to hold it closer.

"Then we're on our own," Sasha cut in. "Same as we were before." She looked over at Tim, eyes softening. "Look, I know we disagree about what to do about the Archivist, but I'm with you on everything else. We need to be careful about what we're doing when it comes to these things. We need to be smart. And we need to stick together." Her eyes drifted over to Martin. "We have to look out for each other. Maybe Tim and I can take over some of the statement duties, to take some pressure off you."

"Yeah," Martin agreed weakly. That wasn't quite what he wanted, but he couldn't disagree. Tim had that look in his eye, a pleased grin on his face, despite her suggestion. Martin knew he still wasn't happy about the situation, but he was glad to have Sasha on his side, and a plan to follow. Tim was good at those.

Martin, on the other hand, wasn't really ready to give up recording duties. He knew Tim and Sasha would do a great job at it. But that was the one thing he felt good at, and he felt it slipping away from him. Besides, he…liked talking to the Archivist. He could admit that. He liked the closeness, imagined or not. At least the Archivist couldn't treat him any different once he knew how stupid Martin really was.

Martin sighed, turning back to the office he'd left. He had to get back to work. He still had to finish recording the statement, and then he wanted to leave early to head to Boothby Road to do some follow up on the spider statement. Some of the things the Archivist had said about it were still sticking with him, and he wanted to see what was going on there with his own eyes.

~*~

“Statement of Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant, regarding,” Martin sighed, slumping against the wall. His bunched-up jumper was doing nothing to keep the chill from seeping in from the cold stone. “Regarding a close encounter with the being formerly known as Jane Prentiss. Statement recorded direct from subject. Statement begins."

“I don’t know why I did it. I know what you said about Carlos Vittery’s statement, about the spiders and the Web and what happened to him and‒” Martin cut himself off, trying not to ramble. Trying not to spill his guts to an unresponsive audience that may or may not be there. “And it seemed like there wasn’t anything that needed to be followed up on, but... well, that didn’t explain why he died like he did. I mean, a ghost Archivist, I understand, you were a person once, you have a pretty good reason to be haunting this place. But a spider? Back from the dead and seeking revenge? To be honest that sounds like a cheesy movie plot.

"And…and I know what Sasha said, about working as a team. But let's face it, that was for Tim, not me." He bit his lip. "Maybe that's why I went by myself. I didn't want to bother them over something that was probably nothing." The laugh that shot out of him was thin and abrupt. "Except it wasn't really nothing after all, was it?"

Martin continued with his statement, about the thing in the corner and the worms, how he felt the worst was passed when he reached home but woke up to something worse than he thought. He didn't leave anything out, sparing no detail to the Archivist, who probably didn't care about his aversion to tinned peaches or his bouts of boredom between the fear. It came out anyway, preserved on the tape, because he couldn't stop even if he wanted.

Now he understood what the statement-givers felt.

Worse than that was feeling it all again, the terror of the thing on the other side of his door, the numbing fear of being trapped forever, and becoming another mystery in the Archives. It spilled out of him, into the Archivist's recorder, where he could listen and judge Martin for being so stupid, so blind. Such a waste of time and tape.

“Statement ends.” Martin finished, hiding his face in his palms. He didn’t expect to feel better after giving his statement, and he wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t. God, he almost felt out of breath. “That’s it, I guess. I’m...effectively living in the Archives now, since I can't go back to my apartment. I don't feel safe there at all. And at least the document storage room can be sealed, apparently." The thought of any more worms coming after him made the shivers multiply. God, he didn't even want to think it, the idea made him want to hurl.

"But besides that…" Martin sighed. "I don’t even know. We don’t have a solution to this problem or anything, we don't even really _know_ what we're up against. Worms aren't…strictly paranormal. Even if somehow it texted Sasha and Tim for two weeks pretending to be me.” He didn’t want to think about that.

“It’s stupid, I know it is, but…” Martin bit his lip. “I wish I had brought my recorder with me. I wish I'd've had one with me in the basement, and especially in my apartment. I know it wouldn’t have made a difference, it’s not like you’re actually here and all, but...it still feels like it, sometimes. And maybe, if it felt like you were there, and listening, then maybe...maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad.”

The wheels on the tape still turned, making that quiet soft noise he could identify in his sleep. Like a cat purring, or the noise of a fan in the background. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that that noise could have even blocked out the noise of the worms, made them more tolerable. Martin stroked his fingers across the plastic, the texture grainy and familiar against his fingers. Not cold and wet and writhing.

“I’m glad to be back,” he admitted. “Not just because I’m out of my apartment and away from the worms. I mean, obviously, that’s a relief. But being back here feels...it feels safer.” He laughed, somewhat desperately. “I hope it is, at least. It feels safer with you looking out for me."

Why had he said that? Why was he never able to shut up when talking to the Archivist? At least he hadn't said what he'd really felt, trapped in his apartment. How much he'd missed having company, any company, but especially the Archivist's. How maybe the horrible thing happening to him would be more tolerable, because even the worst things in the statements felt bearable in his voice. How he didn't feel so alone when the Archivist's recorders were around.

"Anyway," he stumbled on, "now I can learn something from you, since you have my statement. Now that you know what's happened." His voice was so quiet in the dark, forcing it out past the tightness in his throat. "Maybe now you can tell us what's really going on."

The recorder felt warm in his hands, like it was a living thing. Martin waited until it clicked off by itself, a few moments after he was done speaking. He didn’t rewind to listen to the whole thing, just a few seconds to hear the end of the recording. He just wanted to hear that familiar tone again.

The voice was undeniably the Archivist’s, but different. It still carried the same weight as the one that dictated statements, but it was more focused, more direct. As if the Archivist was really there, sitting on the cot with him, speaking the words like they were meant only for him.

“Martin Blackwood is safe in the Archives.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream with me on [tumblr](http://blasphemous-lies-and-deceit.tumblr.com/)


	2. 1.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings: Continued timeline mangling, Jane Prentiss and all her worminess, and Tim says some bad words.

The thing about fear was that it got very boring sometimes. Martin had learned that all too well while he was trapped in his flat, and being confined to the Archives really just drove the point home.

Living in the Archives lost it’s shine very quickly. Not that it ever had much to begin with. Besides the fact that Martin couldn’t go home, couldn’t get away from work if he tried, he could never forget the fact that he was hiding there because a worm woman was after him. A worm woman who had already followed him across the city, and there really didn't seem to be much stopping her from tracking him to the Archives. 

That thought led to a spiral of horrified thoughts of the worms trying to get in the Archives, and how equally trapped he would be there. And worse, because Tim or Sasha or other employees could be attacked too. Attacked and eaten, or turned into _something_ like Timothy Hodge. And it would be all his fault. And he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't call an exterminator, or catch a plane and take off for the Arctic. There was no way to _fight_ what was coming, even if he could. All he could do was hide away in the Archives, useless and terrified. 

That helplessness was the worst of it all.

There was also the threat of being found essentially squatting in his workplace's basement, and on top of what else about him that could be found out…it wasn't a great feeling. A whole new level of pathetic he had never sunk to before. It made him feel even more trapped, worse than when Jane Prentiss had him stuck in his apartment. Because he'd have to live with it if he was found out. He'd lose everything in one fell swoop and that was even more terrifying, somehow, than being eaten alive by worms.

It was also undeniably lonely, once Tim and Sasha went home. They'd offered to let him stay at their respective flats, but he'd turned down the offer. What if _she_ followed him there? How could he even consider it? Better to stay in the Archives, where he would hopefully be the only casualty if something happened. No matter how big and empty it felt when everyone else had gone home. 

Besides, it wasn't like he was really alone, was he? He had the Archivist for company.

After he'd given his statement, Martin couldn't help but notice how much more he felt the Archivist's presence. It seemed like as soon as Tim and Sasha left, the closest tape recorder would turn itself on, filling his ears with quiet static. He'd begun carrying around the small silver recorder‒ the one he privately thought of as 'his'‒ and feeling it's weight in his pocket, the slight hum as the wheels turned, made him feel a strange sense of comfort. Like the Archivist was quietly sitting there with him, another presence in the dark. Letting him know that he wasn't alone.

The feeling of being watched never really went away, but he could pretend it was the Archivist, and that made it okay. He could pretend that the music and videos he played on his phone and the poetry he read out loud were as much for the Archivist as it was a way for him to fill the silence. He didn't want to think about what that said about him, if there really turned out to be no ghost after all.

He also tried not to think about just how "present" the Archivist really was, especially when he was changing behind a shelf in Document Storage. 

It was late. Impossible to tell how late with no windows in the Archives, but that was the point of being there. Martin had all the lights turned out, except the sickly fluorescents in Document Storage. Their buzzing threatened to overwhelm the quiet static from his recorder resting on the cardboard box pretending to be his nightstand. The cot creaked under his weight every time he shifted, and the cheap fleece blanket he bought made his feet feel hot. But he couldn't complain; he had his tea, and his poetry notebook, and the Archivist, so it was the closest he could be to comfortable. 

So it was a bit of a surprise when the recorder abruptly turned off with a snap. Martin jumped, pen and notebook nearly falling from his lap, heart pounding rapidly at the sudden lack of noise. He stared at it in shock as the play button pressed down by itself with a click, filling the air with the sound of heavy static and a familiar voice.

"... _out_."

"What?" Martin leaned over and plucked the recorder off the box, blinking at it in confusion. That was the Archivist's voice, he'd know it anywhere, but this was the first time he'd heard it independently of a statement. It sounded thin and strained, like it was an effort to get anything out, but Martin still heard him.

" _out...out...out…_ "

Shivers broke out over his skin. The security he'd felt the recent days in the Archivist's presence vanished, leaving coldness in its wake. Martin suddenly felt very small, and very alone, not unlike how he had felt in his apartment when the worms were trying to get in. 

But now, he needed to get out.

"- _out...out...out...Out...Out...Out-_ "

His voice was growing louder, more desperate. Martin jumped to his feet, heart in his throat. He barely got his shoes on before he was sprinting towards the stairs, the Archivist's voice loud in his ears. The recorder continued to repeat itself until he was out on the street, gasping at the cold night air. 

Martin didn't stop even after the voice did, running until he was streets away. He took a moment to lean against a brick wall, gasping for breath. There was no one around, no cars on the streets, but he still felt like he was being watched. The Archivist? Or something worse?

"What‒ what was that?"

The recorder was silent. Of course. The tape was still spinning though, still recording. Martin wondered if it could pick up the beating of his heart.

He blew out a shaky breath, watching it condense and float away. The sudden terror was turning into deep unease in his stomach, the knowledge that something was _wrong_ but he didn't know what. Why else would the Archivist have urged him to get out?

He thought he'd been safe there.

He knew he couldn't go back to the Archives, at least not that night. Martin wandered the streets, eyeing every person he passed in case they were…something. He was trying very hard not to think about the worst of the statements and the things in them. His hand in his pocket gripped his recorder, hoping fervently that it would warn him if he was in danger. Again. 

Finally, just as he thought his feet couldn't possibly hurt more, he found an all-night diner and collapsed into a booth. The coffee he ordered wasn't the comforting tea he'd make for himself, but it would keep him awake, and that was what was important. Martin settled in, setting the recorder on the table and watching the wheels spin, waiting for the tape to eventually run out. It never did. 

~*~

Martin stared at the exterior of the Institute, willing himself to go in. He was being silly, he knew he was, he'd already watched several other coworkers head in, and hadn't heard any screams or any sign that anything was amiss. There was no danger. Probably never was.

His recorder in his pocket was vibrating now, almost like a heartbeat, and he didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Did the Archivist want him back inside or was he being warned away again? He wavered, wishing he had real answers, wanting to feel that safety again, that security. Wishing he could stop second-guessing himself so much. And the Archivist. 

God, he was so tired.

"Martin Blackwood is safe in the Archives," he muttered to himself. The Archivist wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true. Squaring his shoulders, he marched in, relaxing slightly when the front entry was as harmlessly bland as it always was. Rosie smiled and nodded at him as he passed, and he carefully smiled back. If there were anything wrong, surely she would know, and would say something to warn him. 

Each step descending the stairs felt like a breath of relief, one after another. Like dropping his head onto a pillow after a long productive day, or the first sip of a perfect cup of tea. Everything in the Archives was as chaotically familiar as it always was. The recorder made no noise, not even a squeal of static. 

It actually felt like coming home.

"Martin? That you?" Tim's voice called out from Document Storage, thick with worry. "Where the hell have you been? Sasha's hurt."

"What?" His own safe feeling forgotten, Martin darted through the shelves. Tim was sitting on his cot, next to a disheveled-looking Sasha. "What happened, are you alright?"

"It was the worms," Tim said grimly, meeting his eye. "One of them got her."

"Oh my god," Martin breathed. Sasha didn't look like she was about to explode into worms, but he found himself backing away regardless. This was his fault, somehow, they'd found someone close to him and now she was hurt, she would suffer and die, God, he couldn't deal with losing Sasha like that, not now‒ 

"It's fine." Sasha's voice broke into his frantic thoughts. "Some…thing got it out."

The way her voice hesitated over the word told Martin all he needed to know. He shared a panicked look with Tim, who gave him a quick once-over before nodding over at the first aid kit next to him. "Should we tell Elias? Do you need to go to A&E?"

"No, it's fine. Just a cut." Sasha's grin wavered slightly. "Could have been a lot worse," she said, like that was really something they should be grateful for.

"God, Sasha, you're just as bad as Martin." Tim's voice was hard and tight as he carefully peeled the gauze away from her cut to check it. "What happened to sticking together and looking out for each other, huh?"

"I thought I'd be fine," Sasha offered weakly. "I know you're gonna think I'm stupid, but…I felt like I could trust‒ no." She cut herself off with a shake of her head. "That's not right. It was like this _idea_ that I could trust him, but I don't know where it came from. _I_ definitely didn't look at the creepy tall pointy man and think 'oh yes he looks very trustworthy'. I don't know how it happened. It just popped in my head."

Martin caught sight of Tim's face over her head as he sat next to her, tiredness forgotten. He looked like he was biting back a furious retort. "What tall creepy man?" Martin asked to distract her before she noticed.

Sasha sighed. "Another messenger of cryptic warnings. We should introduce him to the Archivist." She abruptly straightened. "Actually, get your recorder. I want to make a statement."

"No," Tim cut in before Martin could move. "Not happening."

" _Yes_ happening." Sasha turned her head and pinned him with her fiercest glare. "Don't you dare tell me what I can and cannot do, Stoker. Don't give me that misogynistic crap. You're better than that."

That made Tim pause, at least. One of his hands dropped from her shoulder to rest on her hand, squeezing lightly. "Alright, yeah, that's fair.” His smile was a pale imitation of his usual one. “Can't help it though, I feel like…" he sighed. “I feel like there’s something going on down here. Besides the undead Archivist, which, y'know, still not totally thrilled about that. But it's got to do with those statements. We're attracting the wrong kind of attention from them. First the worms, and now this guy?"

"Well, I could say we were doing fine on our own, but," Sasha shrugged her injured shoulder. "Point taken there."

"And I know that! I know you two can handle yourselves. You're the smartest person I've ever met, and Martin, you're stubborn as all hell." He chuckled bitterly. "I don't know how you can keep reading those statements. I read one while you were gone and it almost made me sick, but you're still going at it." Tim did look sick just remembering it. "But I still have this feeling like there's something dangerous somewhere and somehow, it's my job to keep you two safe. I mean, you know I've seen what happens when these things set their sights on you. Not just the statements, I mean…stuff that happened in my life."

Sasha's face softened, and her free hand came to cover Tim's. "Tim…" she said softly. 

That was the worst time to open a new package of gauze. Martin flushed as the packaging crinkled in his fingers, awkwardly ruining the moment. A hint of familiar smile crossed Tim's face as he took the gauze and pressed it to Sasha's shoulder.

"I'm not talking about it here," Tim said firmly. "Not with the Archivist listening in. But you guys know what I'm talking about, though, right? This stuff is _bad_." He took the medical tape Martin offered, neatly applying it to Sasha's smooth skin. "And normally I'd be out of here and never look back but…I can't leave you two."

"We're‒ we're safe here though," Martin stuttered out, awkwardly crumpling up the gauze wrapper. He still believed it, even with the Archivist's warnings to get out fresh in his mind. He couldn't forget the way he had sounded that first night, his words both a statement of fact and a promise. 

He desperately wanted to feel that safety again. 

"Look, Martin," Tim cut off his thoughts. "I know you think the Archivist is looking out for us, but…" Tim rubbed at his face. "God, you were gone for weeks and he didn't say a damn word.”

Oh. Martin stared at his feet, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "Maybe… maybe he can't see things happening outside of the Archives?" he offered lamely. 

"That's why we need to tell him," Sasha said firmly. "Like it or not, the Archivist is our best source of information. He knows about these things." Her eyes rose to meet Martin's. "I know what you mean‒ it does feel like he's looking out for us, doesn't it? I don't know how, but he is.”

Tim snorted. "He's doing a hell of a job," he grumbled, before sitting up and giving himself a shake. "Okay, enough moping from me. Why don't you tell us about your date with tall, pointy and creepy?"

Sasha reluctantly nodded and smiled at Martin. "Can you go get the recorder?" she asked. Tim looked like he wanted to speak up again but Martin noticed she was still squeezing his hand, hard. He smiled to himself and left the room. 

He didn't want to use his recorder ‒ it was silly, but it had been on all night, and it didn't feel right. Martin felt that it needed a break. He headed towards the spare office to grab the larger tape deck, but stopped when he caught sight of something on Sasha's desk. It was another smaller recorder, but a bright electric blue instead of silver or plain black. Despite himself, his lips twitched. The color perfectly matched Sasha's laptop cover. 

He didn't say anything as he brought it back to Tim and Sasha. He knew from the looks on their faces they were thinking the exact same thing he was. Martin took a seat next to Sasha, wrapping a careful arm around her shoulder. Tim settled on the other side of her, still squeezing her hand. The recorder balanced on her knees, waiting patiently for her to start.

"Statement of Sasha James, Assistant Archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding a series of paranormal sightings. Statement begins."

Martin and Tim listened quietly as Sasha recounted her story. When she spoke about the man and his distorted double, Martin felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck. It was eerie, but he felt like he understood what she had said about the feelings she had felt. It was completely foreign, but he still felt like he knew the…person she was talking about. Familiar, even though he certainly knew he'd never come across anyone like him before. 

Of course, when the creepy stranger mentioned them being in danger, he watched Tim's face tighten again. He knew he should bring up how he'd been urged out of the Archives, how the fear had come flooding back, only to disappear as soon as he was back in the building. But it wasn't right to interrupt with his own issues. Not when they had this to focus on first.

"Statement ends." Sasha finished, heaving a shuddering sigh. "Ugh, that was…awful."

"Like you were reliving the whole thing," Martin agreed, eyes locked on the recorder, waiting for it to stop. It continued for far longer than he was used to, until the wheels finally halted with a resounding click. Sasha was the one who reached out and rewound the tape, just far enough to hear the end of her statement. After she closed with her final words, the silence stretched on, again for far longer than usual. As if they were all holding their breath.

"Seriously?" Tim's voice was biting. "You don't have anything to say to all that? Nothing at all?" His hands were clenching again, and Martin was about to reach for the recorder when the Archivist abruptly began speaking. 

"Sasha James is safe in the Archives."

"Oh," Sasha made a small noise, hand rising from where it rested against the plastic. The Archivist continued. 

"Timothy Stoker is safe in the Archives."

Tim snorted "yeah right," but the Archivist continued, saying the words Martin had repeated in his head every night before trying to sleep.

"Martin Blackwood is safe in the Archives." Even hearing those words again was a relief.

"Michael…was safe in the Archives." The Archivist paused, long enough for them all to exchange a look, before continuing, slowly. "Michael is lost but not in the Archives. Michael was _never_ lost in my Archives." The Archivist stopped abruptly, before starting again. "Michael knew ‒ knows ‒ he…there was a trapdoor, under Sasha's feet in the bar. Michael…says he is a friend but believes he is not, because he was lost outside of the Archives." A crackle of static filled the air, and Martin wondered if that was the equivalent to a frustrated groan.

"Michael is a contradiction due to the Distortion's influence. The part of him that remains loyal to the Archives is at war with itself and its nature. There is never a clear plan or motivation to his actions. Michael is not lost _in_ the Archives" The Archivist was silent again, and it suddenly occurred to Martin that what was happening was happening _now_. This wasn't an impartial report of events long past, the Archivist was thinking, _reacting_ , sounding more present than ever before. Just as much as they were.

"It was not Michael's direct intention to put Sasha in danger, but doing so has led to the discovery that CO2 is lethal to the worms." The Archivist sounded more confident again, the familiar tone of his voice almost a comfort. "Jane Prentiss and the Flesh Hive are the greater threat to the Archives at this time, but‒" this time the spike of static was definitely a sound of annoyance. "I can't _see_ her moving closer but I can _feel it_ against the edges of the Archives. She's too close. Michael's warning may not be enough to keep them away, but it may be enough to slow them down, to cause a distraction. It may be enough to keep my Archives and my people safe. For now.

"Recording ends."

~*~

“Please state your name and the subject of your experience.”

“Into that? You’re joking. I knew you guys were a bit slapdash but this is absurd!”

Martin winced at her tone. Melanie King had exactly the kind of personality he tried to avoid. “I know it’s a little old-fashioned‒”

“Uh, yeah! I think my gran used to have something like that lying around.” Melanie sneered at the recorder. “Does it even work? Do you have to hand-crank it to get it to start? Does it run on potato batteries or‒”

“It works for what we need it to,” Martin cut her off. It was nothing more than a hunch, a suspicion that was accompanying the feeling in the center of his back, but if a professional ghost hunter came to them with a statement, then there was a good chance that whatever they had to say was legitimate, and would never record normally. So he went straight for the recorder, which had already been running, almost eagerly. It seemed the Archivist matched his thoughts there.

"Honestly, I don't know why I thought you guys would be any kind of proper professional," Melanie said with an eye roll. "You'll just take any kind of ghost story or monster encounter or whatever. No proof needed when you're talking to the Magnus Institute." Her smile was biting. "Honestly it's kinda sad how a place like this can even operate. Like, what do you have that the internet doesn't?"

'A weirdly omniscient ghost who can tell the real from the fake just by listening,' Martin felt like saying, just to shoot her down, but he kept quiet. He knew when to just let someone have it out and when he should just keep his mouth shut.

"Anyway," Melanie finally seemed to have gotten over her diatribe. "You want me to give you my story or not? So you can etch it on a stone slab with that thing?" She nodded at the recorder with a grin, and Martin wondered if she had just been trying to joke the entire time. He couldn't say he got it.

Throughout her statement, Martin felt the knowing shiver up his spine join with the unease in his stomach. He almost interrupted when she mentioned Sarah Baldwin, and again when she described seeing Sarah be flung. It was wrong, it was almost making him feel ill, knowing that this was something the Archivist had talked about before, and another person had become tangled up in it. At least Melanie had only escaped with a fright and an odd story.

Once she was done, Martin fumbled out an "O-okay. Statement ends." He made no move to turn off the recorder, meeting Melanie's eye instead. "You're…you're really sure about all this? The ghost and…and Sarah Baldwin?"

"Of course I'm not sure." Melanie slumped back in her seat, and Martin wondered if she was at all tired after the statement, like he sometimes was. "I know what I saw, though, and it wasn't, you know, normal ghost stuff or anything. It was something different."

"Yeah, yeah. Right. Well, we'll look into the hospital and Sarah Baldwin and see what we can find about what happened to her‒"

"Why Sarah?" Melanie perked back up at the mention. "I told you I haven't been able to get in touch. Do you not believe me?"

"No, I do, I really do, it's just…" oh he really put his foot in it, hadn't he? "We've had a Sarah Baldwin involved in a case before, and if it's the same Sarah‒"

"A case?" Melanie cut him off. "What kind of case? Do you have the file? Or is it recorded? Can I have a listen?"

"Its, ah…" This was bad. There was no way he was letting her listen to that tape, not with the Archivist's voice on it. Speaking of, the recorder was still going. The Archivist was still saying his piece. "We, um, we have to go over it internally first, do our own follow-up‒"

Melanie snapped. “Are you serious?!” Martin jerked back in his seat when she abruptly lunged forward, like she was about to jump over the desk at him.

“It’s just…we have procedures, you know, it’ll take some time to cross-reference…” It was a total lie, and Melanie seemed to know it.

“Great,” she threw her hands up, eyes bright with anger. “I should have known this was a complete waste of my time. You’re telling me you have information, but you’re not gonna share it? Why not? Is it because I'm not ' _academic_ ' enough for you?”

“I mean, we will, it’ll just take‒”

“Everything alright in here?” Tim stuck his head in the room, grinning disarmingly, and Martin wanted to kiss him. 

“We’re fine‒”

“No, everything is not alright!” Melanie turned the force of her anger onto Tim, who’s smile turned a little more strained. “This guy’s telling me he knows something about my encounter but he won’t tell me what it is!”

Tim’s smile faded. “What? Why not?”

“It’s…” Martin helplessly nodded his head towards the boxes of recently recorded statements. “It’s one of _those_ statements. You know, on one of the…tapes.”

“Oh.” Tim paused, before his face split with a mischievous grin. “ _Oh!_ Then why not let her have a listen?”

Melanie perked up, but Martin stared at Tim in concern. “But...it’s‒”

“It’s perfect.” Stepping into the room fully, Tim flapped his hands to get Martin out of the chair behind the desk. “She’s a ghost researcher, right? We can give her a shot at ours!”

“Shot at what? What’s going on?” Melanie eyed them back and forth. 

Tim dropped into the chair and leaned towards her over the desk, grinning conspiratorially. “You see, Miss King, we’d like your expertise on this matter.” His charm may not have had the intended effect on Melanie, but she mirrored his hunched-in pose, playing along.

“And does this have anything to do with why I’m not allowed to listen to your recordings?” She glanced darkly over at Martin, who was hovering awkwardly next to the file cabinet.

“Sure does,” Tim grinned. “You see, we have something of a ghost situation here ourselves.”

Melanie barked a laugh. “Of course you do. Let me guess, some old posh white guy who gets after you for filing incorrectly?”

“Well, he’s definitely posh.” With the conversation opened by Tim, Martin reluctantly picked up the box and carried it over to the table. “That could be what happened to Gertrude, he finally got tired of her lack of organization.”

“Wait, so you’ve heard him?” Melanie jolted up in her seat, suddenly very serious. “Like, an actual voice phenomenon?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.” Tim nodded at the recorder on the desk, which was still running. “We hear him on the tape recorders. Anytime one of us records a statement, it’s his voice on the tape instead of ours.”

Melanie glanced down at the recorder, then back up at the two of them, as if she was waiting for the punchline. It came in the form of the recorder clicking off on its own. Martin reached over and rested his palm on the plastic. It was almost searingly hot. 

“So, you’re telling me, if we play my statement back,” Melanie said, mildly sarcastically, “that it’ll be a ghost’s voice on the tape?”

“No, he hasn’t done it on any live statements yet.” Martin pressed the rewind button, listening to it whine. “Just with us.”

“But!” Tim butted in. “He likes to add his own thoughts at the end of recordings. And judging by how long it took that thing to click off, he had a lot to say about your situation.”

“What is the situation?” Sasha finally made an appearance, bearing cups of tea. “You said you saw something weird while investigating a hospital. Was it some kind of ghost? Or a monster?”

Martin sighed. With Sasha finally in the room, it really felt like there was no way to keep everything from coming out in the open. “It was Sarah Baldwin,” he told Sasha and Tim, finally fishing the old cassette out of the box. "One of the people the Anglerfish took."

Sasha's breathy inhale and Tim's muttered swear did nothing to dispel the unease. It felt like they knew they were on the verge of something, and he didn't like what it was. "This was the first statement I recorded," he told Melanie, "and the first time he talked on tape." 

"And the Anglerfish is…" she pressed.

"Spooky puppet monster snatching people up in Scotland," Tim answered as Martin ejected Melanie's statement and inserted the Anglerfish’s. He swore softly when he had to take a minute to turn back the tape. Whoever listened to it last hadn't been kind enough to rewind.

Melanie was looking between them all, the distrusting look fading from her face. "If this is a prank, I really have to give you credit," she said. "This is…I thought you guys only got nonsense things reported to you. But this‒"

"This is very real," Sasha gravely informed her. "Any time we can only record on tape, that means it's real. The Archivist doesn't have any time for fake statements."

"Then…" Melanie's eyes shot to her tape. "You think mine was real?"

"Thought that's why you made the statement in the first place?" Tim asked.

"I guess…I was kinda hoping it was just some spooky trick or something. Something normal spooky, not‒" she stopped when the tape finished unwinding, and the voice of the Archivist filled the space.

"Statement of Nathan Watts, regarding an encounter on Old Fishmarket Close‒"

Listening to it again, Martin wondered again how the Archivist had been so sure about some of his follow up, but other facts seemed to elude him. He didn't seem to question the existence of the Anglerfish, just its current location. It was the same with so many other statements, both certain and uncertain and no rhyme or reason to either. 

It was one of a hundred things he wanted to ask the Archivist, but knew he never could.

"Right." Sasha spoke first after the recording ended, breaking the silence. Melanie seemed frozen in shock. "Are the missing persons pages with that file?"

"Oh, yes." Already knowing where she was going, Martin dug out Sarah Baldwin's and held it out to Melanie.

"This doesn't make any sense," she muttered, not seeming to focus on the page.

“Welcome to life in the Archives,” Tim joked dryly.

"But…but what is she? I know she's not a ghost, she's‒ she's solid, what the hell‒"

"That's what the Archivist is going to tell us," Sasha said firmly, ejecting the tape and passing it to Martin. He stored it away again, making a mental note to rewind it later. "I also want to know why he says 'whereabouts unknown' if she's just walking around taking sound tech jobs. That seems pretty knowable to me."

They fast-forwarded through Melanie's statement, stopping with just enough time to catch the end of it. It finished with Martin's shuddering voice, before it was abruptly cut off by hissing silence.

The Archivist, when he began to speak, sounded far more distant than he usually did. "For all that the Entities may be part of or created from the same basic principle of fear, those that serve them rarely seem to get along. One cannot expect cooperation from an avatar of the Buried and the Vast, as different as they are, but many others seem to delight in stealing prey out from beneath another. Someone marked by the Spiral is taken by the Stranger, while the Hunters have a particular taste for those who serve the Flesh. The only one that seems to stay clear of petty fighting is, of course, the End. Some may learn to cooperate and work together, but for the most part, the relationships are quite antagonistic. 

"Such as it was here when a puppet of the Stranger found itself in the haunting abode of the Slaughter. The individual formerly known as Sarah Baldwin trespassed, providing a far more pressing target to the former director of the hospital seeking new patients. Why the Stranger is allowing its puppets to wander so freely is unknown, although…it could be seeking more participants for the Unknowing. Perhaps Melanie King and her crew were spared two different fates due to the interference of the other. Regardless, the Royal Cambridge Hospital's imminent destruction will put an end to it's hauntings, and what used to be Sarah Baldwin has hidden itself away again, out of my sight.

"Recording ends."

There was silence after the Archivist was done, until Tim broke it. "What," he asked, voice dangerously flat, "the hell, was that?"

“Hang on.” Sasha had a notepad out and was frantically writing in it. “What was it he said? Stranger and Slaughter‒ I know he’s mentioned the Stranger before.”

“Yeah, in that first statement with Sarah.” Tim leaned over to watch her write. “Buried and Vast. Hunt and Flesh, the End, Spiral‒”

“The Lonely.” Martin piped up, remembering previous statements he had read. “And he's mentioned the People’s Church worshipping the Dark. And the Desolation." The feeling of knowing was growing stronger as the list grew longer. "He talks about them like they're…something else. Like they're alive."

"Entities," Tim said grimly. "What the hell‒" 

"Are we ignoring the fact that you have a ghost recorded _on tape_?" Melanie's high strangled voice pulled them out of their musings. Martin had completely forgotten she'd been sitting there, but now she was half out of her seat, staring at them all frantically. "Talking in _complete sentences_? _INDEPENDENTLY_? Do you have any idea how _rare_ this is?"

"It's just Tuesday in the Archives," Sasha said dryly. 

Melanie stared at her in shocked anger. "I can't believe this! You have an actual ghost‒ doing all of this!" She gestured madly at the desk and Archives. "And you're‒ what, just sitting here? Not even _trying_ to seek it out? You gotta let me do an investigation here."

"You can't," Martin blurted out. He didn't know why, but the idea felt so _wrong_ , almost sickening. He didn't want it getting out to the world, and the Archivist to be subjected to the attention of the wider paranormal community. He was their Archivist, not theirs. 

Besides, he knew Elias would hit the ceiling.

"I think we've got a bit more on our plate than hosting some YouTube channel investigation," Tim said blithely. Melanie gave him a hurt look, before her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"This _is_ a prank, isn't it?"

"No," the three assistants said as one, but Melanie didn't seem to hear.

"This _is_ a prank. If you were real paranormal researchers you'd be all over this." She slumped back, looking miffed. "It was a good prank though, I'll admit it. Wanna tell me how you did it?"

"It's not a prank," Tim repeated firmly, but Melanie had clearly reached her point.

"Whatever." Melanie sounded completely done. "I thought you guys took things more seriously around here, but I guess not. Congrats and all, you really had me for a while, but I'm out of here."

"Melanie, wait!" Sasha ran after her as she stomped out of the Archives, leaving Tim and Martin alone together.

"Knew there was something going on," Tim murmured hollowly. "I knew it, I didn't want to believe it, but…"

"Now do we go to Elias?" Martin asked. He didn't want to ‒ he _really_ didn't want to, because now too much time had passed and he didn't have the excuse that he didn't know about the Archivist. 

"What's he gonna do?" Tim said sharply. "This is big, Martin, way bigger than him or the Institute. I don't‒ God, I don't know what to do." He hunched over in his seat, looking absolutely stricken. Martin understood the feeling.

He also felt, somewhere in the back of his mind, that the Archivist was pleased with himself and with them. This was what he'd been hinting towards for months, the crucial puzzle piece, and now they were seeing the big picture at last.

If only that picture wasn’t utterly terrifying.

Sasha wandered back in the room, a concentrated frown on her face. "I think I talked her out of skewering us all on Twitter," she sighed. "And I promised her we'd let her know if he did anything else unusual." She locked eyes with Martin, then Tim. "But this stays here, with us. At least until we know more. And I'm not just talking about whatever those things are. I want to know who else knows about this. How far does this go? Does Elias know? Did Gertrude know? Do these _things_ in the statements even know what they're working for?"

The fiery look was back in her eye as she stalked back to the desk. “I want answers. Real answers. That means from you too, Mister Archivist.” She jabbed an accusatory finger at the recorder. “If you know more about what’s going on, I want to know it too."

Tim laughed sharply. "Good luck getting a solid answer out of him, Sash. He's not exactly what I would call forthcoming.”

“He’s trying" Martin cut in defensively. "He talks about them in the statements all the time. That's all he can do.” In fact, looking back, it was remarkable how many times the Archivist had let it slip into his post-statement reports. As if he wanted them to ask and dig into it. 

"Then we give him more statements." Sasha gestured towards Document Storage. "We have plenty to choose from. One of them _has_ to give us answers." Her gaze focused firmly on Tim. "The more we know, the more prepared we'll be."

Tim nodded, resignation on his face. "Guess we're gonna do what we do best. Research." He said with a shrug, before cracking a disparaging grin. "It's not like we know anything about archiving anyway. I'm sure that's what Mister Spooky wanted this whole time."

They were right. Of course they were. Martin tried to relax, gathering the statement files back together. He pressed the button on the recorder to begin rewinding Melanie's statement, and let his hand linger there, feeling the warmth seep into his fingers. There was a plan, and they were all in it together. Even if he knew, realistically, that he would be the one reading most of the statements. 

That was fine though. He'd take any chance to get more out of the Archivist.

~*~

"-tin? Martin."

"Huh?" Martin made a surprised noise as his attention was pulled from the statement he was reading. His head throbbed when he jerked his neck up too quickly. Tim was loitering in the doorway, and from the look of him, he'd been there for some time. "What was that?"

Tim grinned once he finally looked up. "There you are. You mentioned Robert Smirke." Tim repeated with a tilt of his head. "That place in the statement built by him? Where's it at?"

"Um…why?" Martin asked hesitantly. Just as he suspected, Tim's smile turned slightly evil.

"Cause I wanted to go exploring some obviously creepy haunted tunnels, what did you think?" Tim sauntered over, scooping the file off the desk. "But seriously, I don't know how much Smirke was involved in all this weird stuff, but his buildings have some of the highest rates of hauntings in the UK, so I'm not saying it's nothing."

"Right," Martin agreed, trusting Tim's knowledge. "It was enough to get Leitner's attention‒ sorry, _Jurgen Leitner_." He put on his most posh, most disdainful voice, and was rewarded with a laugh from Tim. "Also this kid who showed up‒ Ger-Gerard Kaey." His voice, just like it had while he was reading the statement, stumbled over the first syllable of the teen's name. “He seems like he knows things too.”

Tim sighed, tapping the files against his hand. “Wish we did,” he muttered to himself. Martin knew exactly what he meant. Despite their best efforts, and reading a new statement pulled at random from the Archives every day, they hadn’t gotten any closer to understanding what the “Entities” were. The Archivist was doing what he could, as he always included whichever of those _things_ he thought was responsible for the statement-giver's misfortune, but didn't seem to delve any further into _what_ exactly they were.

Martin couldn't be angry or frustrated with him, though. This whole situation was confirming for him what he'd suspected‒ that the Archivist was very limited in what he could actually say. It wasn't a matter of deliberately holding back information, it was that he simply couldn't divulge it, for whatever reason. Besides not being able to answer any of Martin's questions, there was also the effort it had seemed to have taken to warn him out of the Archives. Martin truly wanted to know the reason behind it, but, again, that was something only the Archivist knew.

Tim stuck around for the rest of the statement, listening as Martin listed off their difficulties in contacting anyone related to the statement. Martin didn't know why he still bothered doing his own research, when it didn't seem to matter to the Archivist. Or at least had little bearing on his own follow-up. But it felt like he was doing something right anyway.

Normally after recording a statement, he would listen to the whole thing again, just to hear the Archivist's voice. It only felt fair, if the Archivist was really listening all the times he talked to the recorders, then he should listen in return. But with Tim still loitering, Martin only rewound briefly, just enough to catch the Archivist's comments.

Unsurprisingly, his voice was laced with disdain thanks to the mention of Leitner. "Jurgen Leitner's first attempt to infiltrate Smirke’s Library of Fears was thwarted by Harold Silvana, for which I am very grateful. He also provided Gerry with the first step towards his book-burning career, for which I am also grateful for. From what I can tell, the Library is still sealed, and still safely inaccessible to most. Statement ends."

Tim shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "Vague as ever, Archivist," he snickered to himself. "And so salty. How much do you wanna bet that someday we'll find Leitner's statement and it'll be all about this vengeful ghost following him around?"

"If what he says is true, I'd say Leitner deserves a good haunting," Martin said dryly. Maybe it was the Archivist's distadin rubbing off on him, but he was starting to really dislike Leitner. He couldn't really put a finger on the _why_ , but it was there, feeling like sandpaper on his skin every time he was brought up.

“Fourteen tunnels,” Tim muttered to himself. "One that's hot, one with a stranger‒ hang on." Tim rose, and Martin did as well, following him out onto the main room. Sasha had already written her list of the Archivist’s “Entities” on the whiteboard. There were several lines linking to various statement numbers, names and locations the Archivist had mentioned. Tim grabbed a marker and quickly counted, frowning when he only came up with eleven. "Damn, I thought there might be a connection."

“There still could be,” Martin tried to reassure him. Although, considering what they were dealing with, it was hardly reassuring. "The Archivist might not have mentioned them all yet. There could be more."

"More arbitrarily assigned fear entities?" Martin jumped slightly when Sasha spoke up behind them, frustration obvious in her voice. "Because I'll be honest, I'm already fed up with the ones we have. They make no damn sense."

"Do tell, Miss James," Tim encouraged her. "What did you find?"

"Nothing, yet. Nothing we don't already have." Sasha grumbled as she took the marker back from Tim, writing "Fears" at the top of the list. "That's what the Archivist keeps saying, that they're fears. And, broadly, yes, I can see that they're things people are afraid of, but it's both too broad and too narrow. Fear of the Dark, sure, but where's the fear of not paying your mortgage? Where does that fall?" Sasha was fired up into one of her classic rants, and Martin loved to hear it. "Then you turn around and find the people who _don't_ have a particular fear of that, but some monster associated with it ends up getting them anyway."

"Categorizing them this way just seems wrong. Fears are cultural, they're dependent on who you are and where you're at in life. And the only culture we're viewing them from is mostly middle-class British culture." Sasha made a face towards the recorder sitting on her desk. "Pardon the insult, Archivist, but your Archive is pretty limited." She sighed. "Probably can blame Mister Magnus for that. This is exactly the kind of bullshit some Victorian white man would come up with."

Martin caught Tim's eye, saw the barely contained smile on his face, and covered his snicker with a cough. Sasha noticed, of course, but her attention went straight to Tim, the obvious source. " _What_ are you giggling at, Stoker?"

"Nothing, Miss James," Tim replied in a sing-song voice. "Just love hearing you tear apart some long-established order because you, personally, don't like it."

"I'm not wrong!" Sasha fired back, and kept on talking over Tim when he tried to reply back. "I just spent hours in the Library trying to make sense of this nonsense. If you want to fight with me about this you have to do the same."

"I don't need the Library when I have _years_ of experience knowing you," Tim said with a smirk. "You think I don't know how you are? Remember the decapitated foot incident?"

"That wasn't an incident, that was you not dropping the issue because you knew it irked me!"

Martin chuckled to himself as they continued arguing. This was more like how it had been, before the Archivist and the Fears. Tim and Sasha could argue like this for hours; it was just how they were, how they came up with their best ideas. It was good to hear again. 

At the bottom of the whiteboard's list, he went ahead and added three additional lines. He didn’t want to think about what else might be out there, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

~*~

Things always got worse before they got better. Martin knew that so, so well. 

He could feel it settling in, the constant undercurrent of alarm, creeping back in on the edges. He jumped at the smallest noise, flinched at every tickle against his skin. His sleep was distrubed by the squirming images of worms crawling through the stacks of old documents towards him, and every time he opened his eyes he half expected to see them. And that was without the sudden jolts of condensed anxiety when he remembered that, oh yeah, there were _things_ out there that they couldn't define and couldn't understand but almost certainly meant them harm.

The days of feeling safe in the Archives, if they had ever really existed, were long gone. He tried, but he couldn't reclaim the feeling. But even with the Archivist’s warnings, the possible threat behind it, he still couldn’t leave. He didn’t know where else to go.

Tim and Sasha brought him gifts from the outside ‒ a new blanket and several pillows for the cot, his favorite foods from the stores he couldn’t get to. Tim had also been brave enough to go to his flat and make sure it was all in one piece, and not infested. Martin knew he should contact his landlord, maybe explain the situation and ask for a rental discount or something, but he couldn't bring himself to. He knew what the answer would be.

Even the staggering amount of pride flags Sasha hung up couldn’t bring his spirits up. It was hard to feel celebratory when he was effectively still in hiding. 

They were all feeling the strain. Tim smiled less, and Sasha seemed more unhappy every day they failed to learn anything from the statements. Worst of all, he didn't know how to help them besides fetching tea. The Archivist was trying to help, Martin was sure of that, but they hadn't found the one statement that would answer all of their questions. It was incredibly frustrating. 

Reading statements was becoming…well, not easier. It wasn't like it was something he could get better at. Some made him feel worse than others, which was just plain odd. Sometimes he could manage two a day, although that left him with even worse dreams, so he avoided doing that often. Martin even began recording on the weekends, when he was "off" work, but really, since he was in the Archives all the time anyway, he might as well try to find out anything he could. Any little thing to help, since he certainly wasn't going to solve the mystery on his own.

He talked to the Archivist a lot, when it was just the two of them. Not that he had a lot of other options, but staying in the Archives really served to show that he never really talked to anyone besides Tim and Sasha anyway. Now that it was all he had, he almost missed the random words with strangers as he bought groceries or waited for the tube. 

But with the Archivist, he didn't have to focus on polite nothings and inoffensive statements. He didn't have to put on a smile and an exaggerated uplifted attitude that left him feeling drained. Martin held nothing back, letting out his frustrations, his fears, his tired aching worries. Things he would never normally let out, for fear of being too "rough", too much of a burden. But he also didn't feel judged when he talked about how he truly wished everything would turn out okay, despite all the evidence pointing towards it not. There was no one to tell him he was naive, or that it was a stupid thing to wish for. He knew it, in the back of his mind, but he wished it anyway. 

He never heard anything back from the Archivist, of course, but sometimes he rested his palm against the plastic, and felt it vibrating like a heartbeat, and wondered if he should feel comforted by that.

Of course, there was nothing, really, that the Archivist could do about his situation, besides give warning. Martin had needed to flee the Archives several more times at the Archivist's urging. Each instance seemed sooner than the last, even twice in one week. He'd tried asking what he was running from, tried lingering in the doorway to see if whatever he was running from appeared, but the Archivist was insistent. He could hear the desperation in his voice, and tried really hard not to think why it was there. What the Archivist could be so afraid of.

The worsening feelings reached their peak when he found Jane Prentiss's statement. 

Martin felt a distinct chill crawl up his spine when he pulled the papers from the file folder. They were completely normal, no smudges or anything, and Jane's handwriting was clear, if shaky. But he still felt unclean just by handling them. The statement was only a few years old, but it didn't seem to have been touched since it was filed. Did Gertrude truly have no idea what was happening at the time?

He didn't want to hide away in the Archivist's office to do the recording like he usually did. Instead Martin brought the larger recorder out in the main room, silently inserting a blank tape as Tim and Sasha drew in close around his desk. They were silent throughout the entire statement, which he was grateful for. Being interrupted gave him such a headache. 

When it was over, he felt almost physically sick, leaning against Tim gratefully. "That…" he shuddered. "That was‒" 

"That's the worst thing I've ever heard," Tim finished for him, rubbing his arm. Sasha was looking as pale as she could, and Tim looked similarly affected. Martin felt the same, but…more. Because he had felt how scared Jane had been in her statement, and yet…almost welcoming of her fate. Like there'd been a part of her ready and willing to give in. That was the worst part of all of it.

The recorder was still running, recording the Archivist's thoughts. Martin expected it to take some time, and hoped that the Archivist would say something enlightening, but the recorder suddenly stopped itself with an almost frantic sounding "click". Martin jumped as the "play" button depressed and the Archivist began speaking immediately, that familiar desperate edge to his voice.

"- _Out...Out...Out-_

"Oh God," Sasha stumbled out of her chair, backing away as she stared at the recorder in horror. "What‒ what's he doing?"

"He wants us to get out," Martin said urgently, familiar fear shooting down his spine. He quickly stood and pulled his jacket from the back of his chair. "Come on, we need to go."

"Wait, what?" Tim, as opposed to Sasha, had stood his ground, staring intently at the recorder. "Since when is this a thing?"

"It's, um, happened. Before. A few times." Martin awkwardly stuttered out. Tim's outraged look swung to him, then back to the recorder as the Archivist's words became even more frantic.

"Tim! Please!" Sasha was nearly halfway to the door, but was lingering, reluctant to leave them. Tim looked to her, obviously torn, before focusing his attention back to the recorder. 

" _What?!_ " Tim shouted furiously, desperately. "What are you trying to tell us? Just _spit it out_!"

The words stopped abruptly, leaving only a sharp silence that hurt Martin's ears. He could only hear his own breathing, and Tim's panting, and Sasha's stifled gasps. 

The whir of static rose, buzzing through the air, louder and louder until he nearly couldn't stand it, until‒ 

" _Corruption_." The Archivist's voice was strained, nearly drowned by the static. " _In the Archives_."

A chill crawled over Martin's shoulders. His eyes darted along the edges of the room, looking for any sign of weakness. Sasha's face was so pale, and Tim's expression seemed to be mirroring his.

"The worms," Sasha whispered. "They're part of it."

"Okay, I'm agreeing with the Archivist for now," Tim said grimly, with only a trace of humor. "Everybody out. Right now." He began ushering Sasha towards the stairs, completely forgoing coats. "Martin, let's go."

"Just a second." Martin swung around to his own desk, snatching up his smaller recorder. Tim's face darkened further. 

"Leave it, Martin‒"

"No!" He shot back, almost startling himself. The recorder was almost burning in his hand, just as hot as the sudden feeling in his chest. He pushed past Tim, still staring at him in shock, and followed Sasha out the back door. She was standing by the bins, shaking so hard she had to use them to brace herself. The sudden intense feeling Martin had felt in the Archives faded at the sight, and he quickly went over to her, hanging his jacket over her shoulders. 

Sasha leaned into his side, gratefully. "I didn't…I thought I wasn't that scared of them," she weakly whispered. “I thought I was fine, but…” she swallowed. “It all came flooding back, the way they sounded and the way they _smelled_ -”

“I know,” Martin assured her. He knew so very well.

Tim burst out of the door, looking around frantically before catching sight of them. "Okay," he said, sounding like he was trying very hard to keep his voice even. "Martin. What was that?"

There it was. Martin could already feel his face heating up. "I…he, well…you heard the Archivist." His throat was growing tight, strangling his voice. "I guess the, uh, _Corruption_ is the worms, and they're trying to get in the Archives." Just saying the words made him feel sick again. Sasha made another shuddering gasping noise.

"You said this has happened before, hasn't it?" The anger in Tim's voice made Martin's shoulders want to creep up. Before he could answer, a dreadfully familiar sound reached his ears. A squirming noise he could identify in his sleep. Sasha stiffened next to him, and Martin tensed, heart in his throat, as Tim turned towards the end of the alley. Writhing there, ice white against the grey stone, was one of the worms.

Before Martin could say anything, Tim stomped over and slammed his booted foot down on the thing. He ground down with an anger Martin had never seen from him before, relentlessly smearing it into the pavement.

Martin was still standing dumbfounded when Tim turned back to the two of them, the fierce look on his face dropping when he saw him. 

"God…damn it," he muttered before marching back to them. Martin flinched back on reflex, but Tim's hands were gentle as he took his hand and wrapped the other arm around Sasha. “Let’s go.”

Tim gently guided them away from the Institute, towards their favorite place to get lunch. It was a bit early, but that hardly mattered. Martin tried to break off for the counter to place their orders, as he usually did, but Tim ushered him into their usual booth and left to do it himself. Martin waited quietly with Sasha, who still seemed to be in shock, huddling in his jacket, eyes a million miles away. He wondered what she was thinking about.

His recorder was silent, although when he pulled it from his pocket and set it on the table, it was recording, as it always was. The Archivist was listening in.

"Okay," Tim started as he slid into his seat, obviously trying to keep his voice steady. "No interruptions this time. Martin. What's happened? How long's the Archivist been doing that?"

Martin sighed, guilt heavy on his head. "I guess it started a few weeks after I moved in? And it's only happened a few times over the past few months. I just‒ he tells me to get out and I do." He didn't want to think of what the alternative would be. 

"Why didn't you tell us?" Sasha quietly asked. 

"Because there's far more important things to focus on. I mean, that first time, that was when you were hurt‒" he caught the look of understanding Tim and Sasha shared‒ "and all the other times…I mean, we're trying to learn more about our Archivist and these giant evil 'entities', not why I'm occasionally getting run out of the office." 

Besides, he didn't say, the Archivist was looking out for him well enough.

Tim sighed in frustration, rubbing his hands through his hair. “‘Corruption in the Archives’,” he quoted the Archivist. “For months now. God‒ okay. Now we know one is out to get us personally. We know what hurts those damn worms. We need CO2. Fire extinguishers. As many as we can get our hands on. Sasha, you can talk to Elias, see if you can get him to change the fire suppression system in the Archives. Martin, we’ll buy a bunch of extinguishers, stock up‒”

“I can’t... I don’t know…” Martin mumbled.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Tim snapped. “Would you rather us be eaten by worms? Or are you going to keep quiet about this too?”

“I can’t afford it!” Martin snapped. He could feel the tightening in his nose that signaled he was about to start crying, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop. “I can’t afford to be buying a bunch of extinguishers right now, okay? I barely have enough to cover my rent, even though I'm not really living there anymore, but I can't _not_ pay rent or I'll never be able to go back and I'll lose everything there and‒" He cut off his frantic words sharply, feeling shame creeping up his throat and making a conscious effort to return his voice to neutral and steady. "It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I can't. I'm sorry."

The table was awkwardly silent for several moments, long enough for Martin to regret snapping. He could feel his face heating up, and stared at a chip in the edge of the table rather than look at his friends.

"I…shit." He heard Tim try to say something, only to awkwardly trail off. Under the table, Sasha's hand rested on his knee, squeezing lightly.

"I'm pretty sure we can expense this to the Institute," she said softly. "In fact, I absolutely think we should. This qualifies as workplace hazard protection or something like that, I'm sure of it."

Martin forced a smile in her direction. Across the table, Tim met his eye, looking as close to devastated as Martin had ever seen him.

"Sorry mate," he said, much softer. "Really stuck my boot in it, didn't I?" Before Martin could assure him it was alright, he sighed, slumping over the table, head in his hands. "Next time I'm being an ass, go ahead and tell me."

"Didn't need your permission," Sasha teased. Martin laughed weakly, feeling the shame rising higher in his chest. He'd made Tim feel bad, when he was already so stressed. All over something stupid, when they were in real danger of losing their lives. How could he have done that?

"I mean it," Tim muttered darkly. "I don't know what's gotten into me lately. I mean, I'm trying really hard not to be the overprotective alpha male but I can't help it, especially when you two are running headlong into danger." His face was so strained, so upset that Martin reached across the table, taking his hand again.

"It just…god, it's like the Archives are messing with our heads. It's like we're being watched, all the time, like being back in the closet and thinking _everybody knows_. You know that feeling, right?"

Sasha dry agreement filled the space where Martin didn't answer. It wasn't that he hadn't felt the same before, it was just…he wasn't as _open_ about it as they were.

"That's…that's a thing, isn't it?" Sasha spoke slowly, almost to herself. "The fear of being watched. That there's something out there that knows too much about you and might hurt you. All those things that are types of fears‒ what if this is one of them?"

“That's what Prentiss said in her statement," Martin cut in. Everything was clicking into place in his head, a little too well. "The worms, the Corruption, it hates being seen and known and…catalogued. That's why Jane came to make a statement.”

“‘Sight and Beholding’,” Sasha muttered to herself, staring at the recorder on the table. "Beholding…I feel like he's mentioned that in a statement too. That has to be one of them!" She reached over and gave the recorder a prod. "Give us one click for yes and two for no."

"He doesn't ever answer questions like that," Martin grumbled when the recorder remained predictably silent. "I've asked him so many times what I was running from and he never said anything." He could appreciate how frustrating that had to be the Archivist, but it was starting to get on his nerves too.

“You realize what this means, right?” Tim was pale, eyes darting between the two of them. "If there's one of those things in the Archives, then _we're working for it._ The whole Institute is. This whole time." He jerked his head towards the recorder. "Never mentioned that, did he?"

Sasha stilled next to him. Martin swallowed, suddenly seeing everything in a new light. The statements, the weight they held, even the Archivist…

Even the Archivist. Martin straightened, fixing Tim with a look. "Knowledge," he reminded him. "That's the fear. We can't‒ I mean, how are we supposed to learn anything without knowledge?! Its not like we're hurting anyone, we're using it to keep ourselves safe and those monsters away. I know it's not _good_ by any stretch, but…it could be a lot worse."

"And I think…I think it's too late for us to get out." Sasha bit her lip, eyes downcast. "I think it was too late as soon as we started working here. We're in the middle of it now." Martin could hear the truth to her words, like a heavy pit in his stomach. She was right. He couldn't imagine leaving, even now, even if he could.

"Sasha, you're brilliant and I love you, but that is maybe the most terrifying thing you've ever said," Tim muttered into his hands. "This is not okay. This is so not okay. I definitely don't remember signing a clause to serve a fear entity when I took the job offer." The devstated frown was back, and Martin had a sinking feeling that it was becoming a permanent fixture. "There has to be a way out of this…"

Tim was stopped when their food finally arrived. The meal was silent, each of them lost in their thoughts. Martin found, besides his own private worries, mixed with the lingering shame, his thoughts focusing on the Archivist. He knew, he had to know, what they were mixed up in. He was mixed up in it as well. Had whatever had happened to him been because of the Beholding? Almost certainly, if it left the Archivist in his current state. Only speaking during statements, only able to report on the horrors. No way to even explain the danger they faced.

The resulting feeling of sadness Martin felt threatened to overwhelm him. If they were already in so deep without noticing, how could they hope to help their Archivist?

He remained sitting at the table as Tim and Sasha rose. He could feel the words in his throat, ready to come out, but he wished they didn't hurt so much. "I'm sorry," he apologized to the edge of the table. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about getting chased out. I didn't want to worry you."

"Martin," he heard Sasha sigh sadly, but Tim was the one who slung his arms around him from behind, giving him a proper hug like he hadn't had in years. 

"You worry about us enough," Tim muttered against his hair. "We have to worry about you too."

Sasha pushed her chair aside and leaned into his side, pulling his head to rest on her shoulder. "We're in this together," she reminded him. "No matter what happens. We have to stick together. All of us."

Martin swallowed the lump in his throat as he brought his hands up to grip theirs. They were right. Everything was terrible, and he was still trapped, but so were Tim and Sasha. And the Archivist. All in it together.

~*~

"Statement ends. Oliver Banks, or, as he calls himself in his statement, Antonio Blake, gave his warning too late to save Gertrude Robinson. About forty years too late." The Archivist's voice was biting enough to chafe. "Gertrude knew what her likely end would be and, despite her many faults, accepted it without flinching. In the end, as with most things associated with the End, nothing could be done to stop it.

"Recording ends."

Martin blinked at the recorder. He had so many questions, but only managed to ask "Was that a joke?" There was no answer, but that seemed to be what the Archivist had aimed for. He didn't know whether to laugh or not.

He also didn't know what to think about the statement in general. On the surface level, the fact that there was someone out there being able to see approaching deaths, and that Gertrude Robinson's had been so gruesome and unusual that he'd felt the need to warn her…it wasn't a nice feeling. In fact, given what they knew about what was out there, it seemed safest to assume that she was tangled up in it as well. Yet she hadn't left any sort of warning for them, no help from beyond the grave. Unlike the other Archivist. 

And there was the way the Archivist had spoken about her. With the same dry and decidedly unprofessional tone he used for Jurgen Leitner. But unlike Leitner, the Archivist had to have known Gertrude well. She was his…predecessor? Successor? Colleague, at the very least, with forty years of possible exposure to their ghostly Archivist. And yet the way he spoke about her was distinctly unfriendly. What could she have done to earn such ire?

Martin was growing very tired of questions without answers. What he did know was that he'd really like a cup of tea and some company.

"Tim? Sasha?" There was no answer as he stepped out of the spare office. Martin felt a sharp stab of terror before he noticed the note on his desk. They were just out grabbing lunch. He breathed a sigh of relief. It would be nice to have them around after such an unsettling statement, but they would surely be back soon. It was fine.

The sigh caught in his throat when the recorder in his hand began to squeal, slowly but quickly rising in pitch. Martin's heart stuttered before pointing again rapidly, fear and adrenaline tightening his grip on the case. 

"God, what now?" he asked it. The Archivist didn't answer, but he also didn't begin urging him to get out of the Archives like he usually did. Martin scanned the room, trying to understand, but he didn't see anything out of place. Except…there. It was a worm. On his desk of all places, and no sign of how it got there.

Not that it mattered, as Martin quickly slammed Antonio Blake's file down on it. That wasn't enough, the recorder was still squealing, setting his teeth on edge. Martin slammed the folder down again, and again, even though the worm was now just a smear on his desk. He didn’t want to think why the recorder was still making that noise, didn't want to think about there being any more worms. He didn't want to think about what kind of danger he was in.

He was still slamming the desk furiously when an unexpected voice grabbed his attention.

“‘Scuse us?”

Martin’s head jerked up to see two men wearing coveralls, standing in the doorway to the Archives. There was nothing remarkable about them, but that in and of itself concerning. He knew that now.

"Got a package for you‒" the first one started.

"Marked very important, it is," the second finished. The exaggerated Cockney accents, and the way they moved as one, was enough "offness" that Martin didn't feel like he needed the Archivist's continued warning. This had to be Breekon and Hope. There, in person. In the Archives. 

Despite the steadily climbing feeling of overwhelming fear, all Martin could think to say was "We didn't order anything."

That didn't seem to bother the pair. "Says it's for the Archivist's Assistant." The taller one's eyes slid down to the squealing recorder. "That'd be you then?"

"Yep," Martin agreed, fighting to keep the wobble out of his voice. "That must be me." He didn't want to take his eyes off the pair to sign the receipt, but the watchful pressure in his head made it clear the Archivist had him covered. That should have been comforting.

"Right you are then," the shorter one said when he was done, taking the clipboard and handing over the package. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Mind how you go," said the other as they turned in unison to leave.

"What else did you deliver?" The question shot out so suddenly that Martin almost scared himself. Breekon and Hope paused, and Martin caught the look they shared. He hadn't even known they had delivered anything else.

"Table," the shorter one grunted. 

"Left it with the lady upstairs," the taller nearly spoke over his companion. 

"That's all?" When had his voice become so steady? He saw them shift, uncomfortably, before nodding as one. "Good. Okay. Um. You can go."

They turned again and left in perfect unison. Martin waited until the recorder stopped squealing before he finally relaxed. It was still recording, of course, the Archivist's presence very much _there_. Probably wanted to know what was in the package just as much as he did. Martin tried to be rather noisy as he ripped it open.

It was a lighter. Not a cheap plastic one he could find in any service station‒ this one was weighty metal, cold and deliberate. He'd never smoked, had never wanted to waste any part of a paycheck on killing his lungs, so he'd never had a proper lighter before, but he could feel how well this one fit in his hand. The design etched into the sides was a string of lines, connecting together into a spiderweb design. 

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Martin silently raised his head, scanning the upper corners of the room. He knew there were spiders everywhere in the Archives, just like there were spiders in almost every single basement that had ever existed. But now, with the phantom feeling of many legs on his skin, it suddenly didn't feel so innocuous. 

He didn't bother voicing his question to the Archivist. Martin instead walked over to the whiteboard and picked up the marker, intending to add "Spiders" to the list. But, with a sick clenching in his stomach, he found himself writing out "Web" instead. The shivery feeling along his arms crawled over him one more time, then settled.

"Okay," Martin whispered. "Point taken."

It seemed that the Beholding wasn't the only one of those _things_ in the Archives. 

~*~

Martin wanted so badly to interrupt the professor as he gave his statement. 

He was aware that the experience had unsettled Dr. Elliott, that was obvious just from the way he gave his statement. And he could sympathize, he really could. But the whole story seemed…well, creepy almost-certainly inhuman students were concerning, but considering how lightly the professor had gotten off, he couldn't help but feel he was being a bit over dramatic. 

Not to mention the student's behavior, if viewed from a slightly altered angle, was almost comically endearing. They just wanted to learn human anatomy. Just a bit...enthusiastically, for no-doubt menacing purposes. It was almost touching.

If only the Archivist hadn’t been so eager for the statement, recorder on as soon as the doctor stepped into the room. Then he could believe it was just the exaggerated ramblings of a professor probably ready for retirement. And not something almost-certainly malicious. 

Finally, Dr. Elliott finished, looking at him like he would have all the answers. Martin wished he had some, but he needed one of his own answered first.

“Sorry, you said one of their names was…John Doe, right?” Martin genuinely wished the Archivist was actually sitting there with him, just so he could look him in the eye and check if he had really heard him right. 

“Yes, that's right. I have the full roster printed for you here." Martin stared at the page presented to him, then back up to the doctor. He wondered if this really was a joke, and Dr. Elliott would eventually admit to it, but the other man just sat there, waiting expectantly for the next question.

“And...the apple?” Dr. Elliott wordlessly placed the baggie on the desk, and Martin stared numbly at it. A perfectly ordinary halved apple, neatly studded with human teeth. If it was a prank, a joke, it was a very good one. If only he could laugh at it. 

"We'll…look into this," he assured the doctor. He wondered, idly, if they would have any more luck tracking the students down, going from their "names". But he managed to keep his frustrated incredulity to himself until the professor was gone.

As soon as the door closed Martin hunched over the desk, palms pressed to his forehead. “There’s no way,” Martin muttered to the recorder. “Please tell me that was just an elaborate joke, and there’s _no way_ -” He did a quick search on his phone, but that just confirmed what he’d suspected ‒ all the students were named with placeholder names for unidentified bodies. “How did he not notice that? How did he _not notice_?!”

He knew it was a long shot ‒ close to impossible, in fact ‒ that the Archivist would actually answer his question in his follow-up, but he couldn't help but ask anyway. It was almost habit at this point.

As usual for in-person statements, it was only his voice and the professor's to begin with. But when he reached the end, and the Archivist began speaking, his voice sounded impossibly more dryer than it had ever been. “Doctor Lionell Elliott did indeed teach his anatomy class to six of the Stranger’s minions, who were obstensionally learning how to imitate humans in a more physical matter. He did _not_ , in fact, notice their incredibly obvious placeholder names.” Martin nearly didn’t hear the rest of his words, helplessly overcome with giggles he muffled in his palm. Somehow, he knew, the Archivist was just as amused and incredulous as he was.

The Archivist continued on. "If it were not so close to the Unknowing, I'd hardly see their actions as anything other than pure curiosity. The Stranger, after all, delights in pushing the boundaries of what is perceived as 'human'. As it is, however, I can't help but think they are becoming _too_ human-like, and that does not bode well for anyone if the Unknowing succeeds. Recording ends."

The brief burst of giddiness dropped in Martin's chest. "What's the Unknowing?" he asked, knowing the Archivist wouldn't answer now. "You've mentioned that before, haven't you?" He had, during Melanie's statement, but they were so caught up with what the Entities were, he hadn't noticed. "God, what else is going on?"

There was nothing. There was never anything. Martin swallowed the lump in his throat. He should know better by now. Asking the Archivist questions was never any good. He never got any answers from him.

But he just couldn't stop asking anyway. 

~*~

"Statement ends," Martin finished, and sighed as he leaned back in his seat. "Poor man. That had to be the…Spiral, right? Fractals, and making you think you've lost your marbles." He chuckled awkwardly, but he felt no humor for the tasteless joke. The recorder didn't react, still dutifully recording the Archivist's thoughts. But Martin had a feeling he was correct about what was behind Mr. Ramao's troubles.

Not that knowing the culprit or reason made it any better. Martin swallowed the lump in his throat, heart practically hurting for the statement-giver. "God, it must be so terrible, losing your husband like that‒ I mean, we can't find any evidence he was even married," he mused. "His husband is just…gone, like he never existed. Can you imagine‒" 

He stopped. He supposed the Archivist could imagine perfectly well. Despite his and Sasha's best efforts, they hadn't found any evidence of their ghost Archivist's living existence. They still didn't even know his name.

'Is there someone still missing you?' Martin wanted to ask. Was someone still holding out hope that they would have an answer, someday, of what happened to the man who had become their ghost? Had anyone noticed and immediately felt his absence, or had the Archivist just been swallowed up too, lost to some force or another, never heard of or spoken of again? Martin didn't know which was worse.

He didn't voice his thoughts, didn't ask the questions. Instead, Martin lounged back in his chair, stretching out his back, waiting for the Archivist to finish. His eyes drifted over to the wall, and he had what felt like a small heart attack when he saw something moving there. The panic faded quickly when he saw that it was only a spider.

“Oh I see you there,” Martin murmured quietly, silently picking up his empty tea mug and a spare sheet of paper. He continued speaking softly as he approached the spider on the wall. “Now, normally, I don’t have a problem with any of your kind. Matter of fact, I quite like seeing a lovely specimen like you. Proper good size you are, you must be a very good hunter to get that big.” He was reasonably sure he was simply saying sweet nothings to an ordinary spider, but it never hurt to be polite. “But unless you have some Harry Potter-type cousins to help with our worm problem, I'll have to ask you to leave. We have enough creepy crawlies on our minds as it is."

Rather than being cooperative and freezing in place, the spider scuttled further up the wall, out of easy reach. Martin stepped close to the wall, up on tiptoes with arms overstretched, trying in vain to set the mug over it. "Come on, you," he whispered. Being so close to the wall, he heard his words echoed back to him, and…and…

Martin froze, terror lancing through his veins, as the horribly familiar squelching noise reached his ears. He could hear it plainly through the wall, just like it had been on the other side of his door. Worms. Corruption. In the Archives. 

Behind him, he heard the larger recorder turn on, sounding like a nail in a coffin. " _Out_ ," the Archivist warned him, desperately, but needlessly. His recorder on the desk next to it was squealing, rising in pitch with the beating of Martin's heart. This is what he had been warning them about. The worms were in the Archives in the walls. 

"Martin?" He heard Tim call from the main office, already moving to usher them out. Martin didn't reply, but he carefully began backing away from the wall, as if he expected it to burst into worms at any second. One hand reached out, grabbing one of the filing boxes he'd hidden a fire extinguisher in.

"Tim," he called, trying to keep his voice steady. "I think I've found the problem." The tone of his voice stopped all sounds of movement from the other room.

"Where?" 

"Wall by the desk," Martin said in a hushed tone. In case the worms could hear him. Which was a ridiculous thought, really, but very in-line with what they were dealing with. 

"Right." Tim sounded grimly serious. "You two head upstairs, tell Elias, get the building evacuated. I'll make sure‒" 

"No!" Sasha cut him off angrily, with Martin's protest coming a second later. He was still backing away from the wall, towards the desk where he could grab one of the recorders, but a wet crunching noise had him yelping and spinning around in shock. It came from the other room, and was swiftly followed by the sound of Sasha screaming and Tim yelling.

Martin charged out into the main room, hearing the wall collapsing behind him. Worms were pouring out of the hole in the wall, but Tim was already dosing them with the fire extinguisher as Sasha grabbed another. "You two get out of here!" Tim yelled over the noise. Martin elected to ignore him, turning and spraying CO2 into the office he'd just left. There were so many worms, waves and waves of them, and over the disgusting noises he could hear the recorders squealing, and the Archivist begging them to get out, loud and desperate. 

A shout of pain from Tim drew his attention, and he spun around to see him aim the jet of gas at his own leg. That distraction was enough for the worms to get closer, and when Martin turned his attention back to the spare office, he saw more worms emerging from the walls, and one pale hole-riddled arm emerged with them. "She's here!" he screamed.

"Get Tim!" Sasha yelled at him as she took his place, spraying the room down. Martin dodged past her to Tim, who was struggling to stand, and shouldered him away from the worms. There was nowhere to go, the exit was blocked, so Martin shoved him towards the safety of Document Storage. Sasha followed right at his heels, and slammed the door closed on the sea of worms after them.

"Buggering fuck that hurts," Tim groaned as he sunk to the floor. Martin knelt to examine his leg, wincing at the sight of all the holes and redness. There didn't seem to be any left in his leg, which was a small mercy. Sasha retrieved the well stocked first aid kit and hovered as Martin began to patch Tim up. Martin thought she was fretting, but when he glanced up, he noticed her gaze was focused out towards the Archives, muttering to herself. Of course. Someone had to plan their way out.

"So what's the damage?" Tim grumbled, eyes squinting towards the ceiling rather than towards his leg.

"You'll be alright," Martin soothed him, carefully layering gauze around his leg. It was a shame, Tim really had nice calves, but now they were marred. 

"I mean in the Archives," Tim hissed. "What's she doing out there?"

"Oh," Martin blushed slightly as he pushed himself to his feet and over to the door. He'd kept thinking, the whole time he'd been living there, that he really should clean the small reinforced window in the door. It was filthy, and it was far too late now, covered in dust and worm slime. He could still see through it, just barely, to see the sea of worms writhing across the floor and their desks. Jane Prentiss was in the middle of them all, somehow looking more rotten than the last time he'd seen her. She was running her filthy wormy hands across their desks, disturbing the papers there. As if she knew she was being watched, she raised her head, looking towards the door and him. She smiled, horrible and leering, and reached her hand out to the whiteboard of fears. One swipe and it was all gone.

Martin shuddered as he sat back on the floor. He tried to remember that he was safe in that room, safe in the Archives, but it was hard to believe, with the worms right outside the door and no recorders on hand. God, he hadn't even thought to grab them. Not that he would get any words of comfort from the Archivist anyway.

Under the sound of the worms, Martin became aware of a steady, insistent clicking noise. Sasha must have heard it too, as she shook herself out of her thoughts and turned her head around, trying to find the source. "You hear that, right?" she asked.

Tim looked up from his leg, listened, and barked a laugh. "Yeah, think that's mine." To Martin's surprise, he reached under a shelf and pulled out a small tape recorder, red and battered. "I mean, as much as a sentient tape recorder belongs to someone." He tossed it carelessly towards Martin. "Showed up one day and started following me around. I broke it and threw it in the trash, and it just kept showing up again." Tim shrugged. "Took a couple of tries, but it finally stopped showing up on my desk. Think it got the hint."

Martin gingerly turned the recorder over, watching the record button depress itself, then the play button. Record, then play. Again, and again. "What are you trying to tell us?" he asked uselessly. 

"Think he's trying to tell us that we are _screwed_ ," Tim hissed. "Unless he has some brilliant plan to get us out. Which he isn't able to tell us since no one's giving a _fucking statement_!"

Sasha gasped. "That's it," she blurted, eyes brightening. "That's what he's telling us to do. Get that thing's statement!”

Martin and Tim both stared up at her in shock. "You think a pile of worms is going to sit there and give its statement?" Tim asked incredulously. "How much gas did you inhale?"

"You know what I mean though‒ when you're reading a statement, or someone's giving one…you can't stop unless something interrupts you.” Sasha looked like she had discovered the secret of the universe, as if everything suddenly made sense to her. “If we get it’s statement, that'll hold it for a while, until it's done. And we can get out!"

"But we already have Jane Prentiss's statement," Martin reminded her.

"But not the Flesh Hive's," Sasha reminded him, twisting to point at the door. "They're two totally different things, and he doesn't have its statement. That has to be it!"

"Again, pile of worms we're dealing with here." Tim cut in. "It's not going to give us it's statement. It's not even gonna listen to us." 

"It will for him," Sasha said with a determined nod towards the recorder. "He's the Archivist. He's part of whatever is going on, the Eye or Beholding or whatever. He's like all those things he keeps bringing up in statements. _That's how he knows about everything that happens._ " Sasha stopped abruptly, like she was stunned by her own revelation, slumping to the floor next to them. But she was right. He could feel it, and so could Tim, by the look on his face. The recorder in Martin's hand had quieted, almost sheepishly.

"I fucking knew it," Tim muttered angrily. "It was too much to hope we ended up with Casper the friendly ghost, no, we get the one who's been in on this the _whole_ time."

“He’s been looking out for us though.” Martin wasn’t sure if he was stating a fact or just voicing what he’d felt for so long. Because even if the Archivist was working for one of those _things_ he was still protecting them, keeping them safe and knowledgeable. "He's been trying to keep us safe, this whole time‒"

"And now he wants one of us to go out and get eaten by worms so he can get its bloody statement." Tim snapped. "Did you forget that crucial detail in your plan, Miss James? Who's gonna take the statement? Or are you just going to turn the recorder on and chuck it out the door?" 

"That won't work," Martin murmured. "Someone has to get the statement started." He stared at the recorder in his hands, already knowing what needed to happen. What he needed to do. "I'll do it."

Their reaction was immediate. Sasha gasped out "no!" as Tim swore and weakly tried to crawl over to him, but Martin was already on his feet, standing at the door with his hand on the doorknob.

"It has to be me," he insisted. He looked at the two of them ‒ brilliant Sasha, and brave but injured Tim, and knew that he was the most expendable. It didn't matter that the recorder was squealing as well, as if it was also protesting his decision. It had to be him. 

"Stay here until the statement's started," he ordered. "Then make a run for it. Don't do anything to distract it or get its attention. And don't wait around for me or double back. Just get out." He swallowed. He knew what he should say, but he couldn't bring himself to, even now. "Don't tell my mother what happens to me. She won't‒" _care_ , he didn't say. "She won't want to hear."

With that, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, shoving a clear space through the worms. Before any could spring at him, he took a long-legged step to a nearby chair, and from there to the nearest desk. A million wormy heads turned to follow him, as did Jane Prentiss's. The smell was nearly overpowering, and Martin had to swallow heavily before he could speak.

"Statement of…statement of the Flesh Hive‒" there was a shifting rustling noise, and a shiver crawled up his spine as he realized he was being laughed at. "...regarding its…existence and activities." Jane Prentiss was slithering closer, and she was tall enough to reach him on the desk. Martin resisted the urge to take a step back. "Statement taken direct from subject on, on July twenty-ninth, 2016." Her arm was reaching out, worms threading through her fingers, straining for him. Martin leaned back, recorder over his head, chest heaving, desperately trying to keep from being touched.

" _ **Statement begins.**_ "

In the sudden silence that followed his words, Martin trembled with the knowledge that he hadn't been the only one to speak. The recorder was hot in his hand, so hot, and he was stuck staring in Prentiss's grey rotted eyes. He could _feel_ all of the worm's focus on him. They were all frozen stock-still, not even writhing, and Martin waited.

" _We…sing…_ "

It was worse than the slimy squishing noises, even worse than the knocking at his door. Worse because it wasn't really words, just sounds forced into place. He could tell it was a struggle ‒ it wasn't just Jane speaking, it was all of the worms, "talking" as one, and it was horrible to listen to. But he couldn't drop the recorder, couldn't cover his ears. He had to stand there and listen to its statement. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Document Storage room door swing wider. Sasha carefully emerged, wielding a cardboard banker's box she used to carefully shovel worms out of the way. Tim followed close behind her, head on swivel, from the mass of worms to Jane Prentiss to Martin. But it was working, the worms weren't able to move. He could feel it, like a pressure filling the room, and he knew it was the Archivist. The Archivist had them in his grasp, and they couldn't go anywhere or do anything until the statement was done.

Martin lost sight of the other assistants as they passed behind him ‒ his eyes were still locked with what used to be Jane's. Her words were carrying the rest, speaking of their love, their embrace, how it felt to always be, always care for what they had until there was nothing left. Before, when she had him trapped in his apartment, Martin had only felt fear of her.

Now he felt what she did, and he understood.

Somewhere overhead he heard a siren, and realized Sasha must have pulled the fire alarm. That was smart, that would clear out the building. Hopefully she and Tim were well away. He could feel the statement was drawing to a close ‒ there wasn't much for a barely-sentient mass of worms to say. He knew it, and so did the worms. He could feel it, the way the Archivist probably had, squirming on the edge of awareness. The fear was cresting, tightening his throat, as the squishing disgusting words came to a close. Then there was silence, Martin with his eyes still locked with Jane's, and the worms still frozen, but now, waiting to strike.

"S…statement ends."

The writing mass rose, but before Martin could react, the door to the Archivist's office slammed open. "End This!" Tim yelled, half-muffled over the rush of CO2 coming from the fire extinguisher he’d armed himself with. He caught the first wave that sprang at him, then Sasha burst through the main doors, spraying the worms with her own extinguisher. Martin lept for the space she cleared as a scream echoed through the room. Jane Prentiss tried to flee, only to come face-to-face with Tim, who doused her right in the face. The scream rose, filling the room, until it tapered out, like all the air being let out of a balloon.

Then it was just the three of them, spraying the room down in CO2, until the fire brigade finally reached them. 

~*~

"Are you quite sure you're unharmed?"

"Yes," Martin said tiredly. He'd been polite to the ambulance crew that had treated him, and the police officers who interviewed him, but with Elias questioning him, he felt his patience growing thin. He knew, somehow he knew, that Elias was only asking for appearance's sake. He didn't really care.

"Well, that's good." Elias smiled so thinly, Martin wondered if he practiced in the mirror. "We would hate to lose any of you."

Martin bit his tongue, wanting to lash out and remind his boss that they'd requested a change in the fire suppression system weeks ago, but he'd never approved the proposal. And if he were feeling particularly ungenerous, he could accuse him of knowingly keeping them in the dark, of lying and not telling them what they were dealing with. Elias _knew_ things, Martin was certain of it, but was unwilling to give them a hint. And that itself was enough of a hint to be a warning.

Until he knew exactly what Elias knew, he would have to play dumb. It wouldn't be that hard.

He wanted to get away and check on Tim and Sasha, but Sasha was talking with Rosie on the steps leading down from the Institute, and Tim was still in quarantine with the ECDC. Which left Martin alone to deal with the boss. He didn't even have the Archivist silently backing him up.

"Before I let you go, I have one quick question." Martin's heart thudded uncomfortably when his boss nodded towards the police vehicle parked nearby. One of the officers was handling an evidence bag carefully, and Martin could see that it held Tim's recorder, covered in slime and bite marks. It looked like it was still running though. He had dropped it to wield an extinguisher, and hadn't managed to grab it before they'd been escorted out. "Do you know who's recorder that is?"

Damn. Damn damn damn. "Mine," Martin lied. "I bought it to record some poetry during my breaks. 

"I see." Did he? Martin tried not to flinch away when Elias's eyes met his. He'd just been in a staring contest with a worm woman and won‒ he could handle his boss.

Elias did look away first, but Martin got the impression he only did so only to give the recorder another significant glance. “You should be careful with technology like that down there. I've found there's a significant amount of…interference in the Archives."

Martin's stomach clenched. That interference had done more to protect them and save their lives than Elias had ever done. He knew whose side he was on.

"I know what you mean," he said with a fake smile. "My mobile's battery just drains down there, even when it's turned off. Weird how old buildings can do that."

He caught the look of professional annoyance on Elias's face before he turned and marched away to hassle the police chief. Martin silently rejoiced. Two could play his game.

At long last, people began to clear out, as it was obvious the ordeal was over. As soon as Tim was free, Martin hurried over to him. Tim blinked up at him in surprise, but he didn't have a chance to react at all before Martin wrapped his arms around him as tightly and gently as he could.

"Thank you Tim," he whispered in his ear, forcing the words out through the lump in his throat. "Thanks for coming back for me." Tim went limp against him, awkwardly slinging an arm around his back.

"Course I did," he mumbled. "Couldn't leave you there to the worms." He could have, easily, but he hadn't. And that mattered.

Over Tim's head, Martin could see Sasha watching them, an oddly blank look on her face. Then she blinked, and her eyes filled with tears as she hurried over to them. Martin reached an arm out and pulled her into the fold, feeling her arm wrap around his and the other reach around Tim's back until they were all tangled together, all familiar and alive and breathing. 

They stood like that for several minutes before a noise grabbed Martin's attention. There was some kind of commotion happening over by the building's entrance. Sasha turned her head, blinking at the hurried movements of the police and the ECDC.

"Please tell me there's not another worm person," Tim said, muffled from his face pressed to Martin's chest.

"No, it's something else." Sasha blinked, and her eyes grew wide. 

“They say they’ve found a body.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy wonder who that could be
> 
> BTW I could really use an in-fandom beta reader/fact checker if anyone's interested hmu on tumblr.


	3. 2.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _LOVING_ the response this story is getting - especially the theories. I love reading the theories. Can't say if any of them are correct or not but...I love reading them. 
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings: Angry Tim, implied depression/suicidal idealization, unpopular opinion about _The Shining_.

“Testing, testing? Hello? Can you hear me?” Martin chuckled to himself as he set his recorder down. “Sorry, I’m sure that was obnoxious. 'Spose it doesn't really matter if you’re there or not. I mean, it’s not like you’re possessing the tape recorders or anything.” He bit his lip. “Or... maybe you are? I guess that’s what I was thinking, bringing it here? Maybe?”

There was no answer, of course, no glitch of static or any indication that there was anyone on the other end. Martin coughed awkwardly. “Anyway, I just thought, if you _were_ listening in through the recorders, I thought maybe you’d like to keep me company while I unpack. Not‒ not that I'll be talking the whole time, I was going to play some music too. I just thought you might like to hear from one of us. That's all.”

This was stupid. He was being stupid, talking to nothing and no one. It wasn’t like it was in the Archives, with the constant feeling of being watched. He felt nothing, even with the familiar quiet noise of the wheels turning and the static from the tape. He was just feeling a bit desperate for someone to talk to, after everything that had happened at the Institute, plus a stressful move with very little help. And he hadn't had a chance to talk to the Archivist since the incident. 

The feeling of quiet desperation about the last point wasn't something he cared to look too closely at.

Martin opened the cardboard box sitting by his hip, sighing at the pile of clothes and random knick knacks waiting to be unpacked. He was still quite sore from carrying so many heavy boxes, and overwhelmed with where to begin. This would take some time. 

"So, yeah, it's been a while since we were all in the Archives. I‒ yeah, you know that. 'Recovery time off', according to Elias. Really, Tim's the one that most needs it, he's still recovering from the worm bites. I think Sasha's quite ready to go back." At least, that was the impression he got from her text messages. She seemed especially interested in the tunnels, which was no surprise, especially considering what had been found there.

"Still, I managed to get back in to grab my things, and, uh, you." Martin smiled weakly at his recorder. "Still a proper mess, I'm sure you know that, but they're getting it cleaned up. And, uh, blocking up those tunnels again." He shuddered. "Still can't believe they were there the whole time. Did you know about them? I can't say I'm thrilled about creepy tunnels coming up into the Archives. Especially since, well…you know what was down there."

Did he though? Wouldn't he have said something earlier if he knew? Martin wanted to ask, but at the same time he _didn't_ want to ask. Didn't want to make the Archivist confront the reality of the dead body that had been found.

"Um…I have a new flat, as you can see…um, I guess? I hope? I‒ well, if you can’t, I uh, have a new flat. It’s…nice.” It wasn’t, not really, but it was a bit closer to the Institute. Martin tried to focus on the positives, and not think about the increased rent and what that would mean for his finances. It would work. He could make it work. "Feel a bit safer, here, now, at least."

He pulled out a handful of old mail that had piled up while he’d been living in the Archives. Some coupons and flyers, brochures for care homes that he discarded, and some important-looking envelopes that he left on his counter to look at later. Things he didn't have the wherewithal to currently deal with. God, he still had so much to do involving his move, so many various agencies and services to update his address with. What a nightmare.

"I…don't really know how I feel about going back to the Archives," he admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I miss Sasha and Tim and…you. You're good company, you know? Good listener. Hardly ever interrupt me." His laugh died weakly in the air. "I even miss our sleepovers, if you could call them that. But it's …well, I know I should be more concerned about what we're getting in to. I mean, worm women are one thing, but you're…you're involved in this too." He sighed. "Course you are, that should have been obvious. We should have known as soon as we realized we were wrapped up in it too.

"Thing is," he mused as he pulled out a jumper that was ridiculously soft but two sizes too small, that he held on to in the hopes that one day he would fit into again. "You're not like the Lukas family or Jane Prentiss‒ or, well, I guess you are like her." He paused and stared at the recorder. "I felt it, you know, in her statement, and the Flesh Hive's. What happened to her, she didn't want it, but in a way she did, and then it consumed her…"

Thinking about Jane made him both incredibly sad and incredibly heebie-jeebied. He gave himself a shake. "Anyway, I don't think you signed up for this either. You wouldn't be trying to help us so much if you had. You may be part of the Beholding but you're looking out for us. Going back…that's the right thing to do. We can't leave you there on your own."

He couldn't imagine how that must feel for the Archivist, from having someone around all the time to…nothing. If he was perfectly honest with himself, that was the real reason he wanted to go back, the real reason he had nicked his recorder. So the Archivist wouldn't feel so alone again. 

Martin was suddenly deeply uncomfortable with the silence of the new flat. "Okay," he said, reaching for his phone. "Enough chat. Let's have some bops."

The music may not have helped with his predicament in any way, but it did make him feel better as he began unpacking in earnest. He had so much to do, and only a few days to do it, before they were all back in the Archives. Back to trying to figure out just what was going on.

He had just begun unpacking his poetry books when he received an abrupt answer to the question of whether the Archivist was in the recorders. An alarmingly high-pitched squeal rose to fill the room, louder even than the usual static, making him jump and drop a notebook. “Ahh!” Martin slapped at his phone, pausing the music. “What's that for?" He moved back towards the recorder as it continued to whine where it was resting on a box yet to be unpacked. "Come on, it’s the Spice Girls, you can’t hate the Spice Girls‒”

“Hello, Archivist.”

Martin froze. The voice that came from the recorder wasn't one he’d ever heard before. The squealing from the recorder pitched into an almost desperate tone, enough to put his teeth on edge. What was happening to him?

The strange voice continued. “I hope you’ll excuse the delay. Things have been rather hectic at the Institute.” A hint of cold humor slipped into their tone. “Were you watching, when your Archives were attacked? I do hope so. And how lucky that your assistants survived this time. Isn't that a nice change?"

Martin's breath caught in his throat. The squeal of the recorder almost sounded like it was in pain, and Martin couldn't resist the urge to scoop it up protectively, cradling it to his chest as it heated up, humming in his hands. Whoever this person was, they had to know what their words were doing to the Archivist. Why else would there be so much cruel delight in their tone?

"Well, I'm sure you'll be seeing your people again very soon. In the meantime…something to tide you over." There was a pause, before the voice began again. "Statement of Nathaniel Thorp, regarding his own mortality. Original statement taken down for the Archivist in absentia, the fourth of June, 1972.

"Statement begins."

Martin sat there, unable to stop listening, as the entire statement was read out by this stranger. It felt _wrong_ , so wrong, almost violating. He wanted to plug his ears, turn off the recorder, do _something_ , but he couldn’t leave the Archivist to listen to that creepy voice alone. Even as sickening chills ran down his spine, he stayed, rubbing his thumbs along the grooves in the plastic in the recorder, hoping his soothing touch could reach the Archivist. Trying to give whatever comfort he could.

"Statement ends," the stranger finished after what felt like an eternity. "Well, that was an engaging one, wouldn't you say? Something to think about, certainly, with regards to the End and…mortality." Martin swallowed, feeling sick. This person _Knew_ , they knew about the Fears and they knew about the Archivist. And this is what they did with that knowledge. 

"Well, I must be going." Martin could almost picture the cruel smile on their face at the words. "Wouldn't want to keep you distracted from your Watching. Until next time, Archivist."

Martin waited, teetering on the edge of panic and sadness and fear, trying to calm down. The squealing died down slowly as he did, leaving only the familiar static. "What‒" he swallowed thickly. "What was that? _Who_ was that?"

He didn't expect an answer ‒ he _never_ got answers from the Archivist ‒ but the static rose again, accompanied by the crackling sound of the familiar voice of the Archivist. Forcing the answer out into the too-quiet air of his nearly-empty flat.

" _Jonah Magnus_."

~*~

Walking back into the Archives was like taking a breath of fresh air after being inside for too long. It should really be the opposite, as dusty and enclosed as the basement was, and the recent infestation of worms and subsequent wall repair didn't help at all. But Martin still breathed deeply as he walked back through the doors, feeling the familiarity settle around his shoulders. He didn't think he would miss the place so much, after spending months unable to leave. But he was happy to be back.

He wasn't the only one. Martin smiled at the sight of the largest tape recorder, thankfully unharmed from worms and repair workers, waiting on the desk in the spare office. It was already on, like it was waiting for him. He gave it a fond pat before turning to the wall, fighting down a surge of fear-tinged adrenaline at the sight of it. Each step felt like he was fighting against himself, but he carefully approached the harmless looking plaster. He took a deep breath to loosen the fear strangling his chest, raised his hand, and knocked. 

The wall was as solid as it should be. Martin sighed as relief flooded through him. He gave the recorder another pat before he left the room, humming to himself as he unpacked his bag of tea and biscuits. He binned what was left behind after the worm attack, not wanting to trust their edibleness. The electric kettle looked fine, and he started it up and began preparing Sasha's and Tim's preferred cups. The thought of seeing them again, after being away for far too long, warmed his chest as much as any cup of tea would.

He didn't have to wait long. A pounding down the stairs alerted him to Sasha's arrival. Martin grinned as she burst through the door, looking just as excited to be back as he had been. "Welcome back," he greeted her, fishing her teabag out of her mug.

"Hi Martin." He wasn't expecting the hug from behind he received, but he welcomed it nonetheless. She was as warm and familiar as the Archives, and even better since he could actually hug her back.

"Aww, isn't this cute?" Martin turned to see Tim in the entryway, staring at the two of them. "Grand Archive reunion. You love to see it."

"Tim." Sasha smiled, almost awkwardly as she stepped back from Martin. "I thought you weren't coming in until next week?"

Tim shrugged. "Didn't want you two to have the run of the place by yourselves." He stepped into the Archives, and Martin immediately noticed the limp. He made an aborted move to go help, but Sasha beat him to it, jumping to Tim's side and trying to take his arm. He jerked away and stubbornly stumbled over to his desk, nearly collapsing into the chair with a groan.

"You alright?" Martin asked as he delivered his tea.

"No, I'm not. I don't want to be here, my leg hurts like crazy, and I know you two aren't going to be easy to convince." Regardless of his angry tone, he took a sip of his tea and sighed at the taste. "But I did miss your tea."

"Convince about what?" Sasha asked with a frown.

Tim winced as he shifted in his chair. "You won't like hearing this, but I think we should stop reading the statements."

"Tim!"

"No, listen," he cut Martin off. "I've been thinking. When we read the statements, we get information out of the Archivist. But you know what else we get? Monsters attacking us. You read Jane Prentiss's statement, and then she showed up. There was a statement about the Spiral, then Michael stabbed Sasha." His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What if he's summoning them somehow? Getting their attention while he's telling us all about them? And what if that leads to something like that people-stealing replacing monster coming down here? How's he going to defend us against that?"

"That's…" Sasha paused to give it some consideration. "That's not nothing," she said reluctantly. "I don't think it's deliberate, but you definitely feel watched when you give a statement. At least I did." She looked at Martin for confirmation, and he reluctantly nodded. He really didn't like where this conversation was going. "If those things know about the Fears, they might know it's someone connected to the Eye that's doing it. Which would lead them here."

"But he's trying to help us," Martin butted in. "He's told us everything he can about these things. We wouldn't even _know_ about the Fears if it wasn't for him. Why would he want to put us in danger?" 

_Martin Blackwood is safe in the Archives._

"Has he though?" Tim asked him, his tone heavy with seriousness. "We don't really know anything, do we? We don't know who the Archivist is, or how he got here, or why he's doing what he's doing. He hasn't exactly been forthcoming with his own intentions."

Martin bit his lip. Tim had a point. He'd been so wrapped up in his own feeling of safety and understanding of the Archivist, he'd completely forgotten the mystery surrounding him. Or, not so much forgotten, just not wanting to think too hard about some aspects of it.

"You're thinking of it like ouija board rules," Sasha said, taking a seat at her own desk, turning her chair to face them both. "You don't know what's on the other side, what we're _really_ dealing with, so you have to be careful?" 

"Exactly," Tim said, and snorted. "We should probably call Melanie King or Black or whatever her name was, see if she has any real ideas about what we can do about him. Maybe she can get us a discount on an exorcism."

Martin wasn't sure what face he made at that, but Sasha must have seen it. "Might be overly-cautious there, Stoker," she warned.

"Don't think I am, Miss James. I think we should be even more cautious." Tim opened a drawer in his desk, and Martin saw him make a face as he pulled his red tape recorder out. "Pretty sure you were confiscated by the police," he told the thing.

Sasha tilted her head curiously. "Do you think that's the same one? Think it's vanished from their evidence lab?"

Tim shook his head as he dropped it in his waste bin. "Don't know, don't care. And you know what? I'm starting to wonder if that's not the plan." He squinted suspiciously at Martin's recorder in his hand, and Martin felt the urge again to hold it close protectively. "If this _thing_ we're working for wants all that Knowledge or whatever, then why are we left asking so many questions?"

"It's not the knowledge it wants, it's the fear." Sasha sighed as she leaned back in her seat. "Knowledge goes both ways. You can be afraid of not knowing what's going on and being kept out of the loop. Like your first job that you're massively unqualified for. What if you've been doing something wrong the whole time and no one's bothered to tell you?"

Martin swallowed. He knew that feeling very well.

He also understood Tim's concern. After the worms, and the Fears, and their lack of answers as to what exactly was going on‒ because there was something going on, he could feel it and so could the others. Something much bigger than the Archives.

But he couldn't shake the certainty that the Archivist was looking out for them. He'd felt it, during those many nights being chased out of the Archives, and when he'd taken Jane Prentiss's statement. The Archivist had been protecting him. 

But he knew there was no way to convince Tim. Not when he was like this. That wasn't a fight he wanted to have, not with him. Not like this.

"So we stop playing its game," Tim asserted. "The statements are the source of it, so we stop reading the statements. Stop interacting with the recorders, just keep throwing them out. Nothing."

"What if we get another live statement?" Martin asked desperately, the only loophole he could spy. Tim blinked and seemed to consider it, before shrugging.

"Send them up to Research like we should have from the start? Or at least Rosie should be taking the walk-ins." He huffed angrily, trying to put his foot up on his desk without jostling his injured leg. "It's not our job to take statements. Fuck, it's not our job to research them either. That's just what we've been doing since we don't know _what_ we're supposed to be doing."

"So what _are_ we supposed to be doing, Tim Stoker, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute?" The glare he sent towards Sasha would have been lethal to anyone else. "Because accessibility for visitors is part of an archivist's job description."

"You just googled the job description and didn't look any further than that," Tim accused. "You want to make this place accessible, get Elias to put in a bloody elevator. Stupid nonexistent Victorian building codes," he grumbled. "And the stacks should be organized. That should be the focus. Not the statements. Not the Fears. We should just stay out of it."

"That's it?" Martin blurted. "We're not even going to research those anymore? You're just going to drop it?" You can't‒"

"I can!" Tim cut him off angrily. "These things are dangerous. I've already gotten chewed on‒" he gestured angrily at his leg‒ "next time it might be one of you, and I'd never forgive myself if something happened to either of you. We just keep our heads down, don't get any more attention. No more poking about."

"What about Gertrude?" Sasha asked. "Shouldn't we be more concerned about the dead body that was hidden in the tunnels?"

"Police are on it," Tim said dismissively. Martin could tell from the set of Sasha's eyebrows that she didn't like that answer. "Let them poke around about it. Honesty, I don't care. I'm sick of all the mystery. I'm sick of all the questions without answers." He angrily drained his tea. "Sick of this place," he muttered. 

Martin wanted to say more, say something to convince him not to give it all up, but Sasha caught his eye and shook her head, and he deflated. She was right. There was no point in fighting Tim like this. He knew it was always best to let someone who'd worked themselves up too much cool off.

Speaking of cooled off, his tea was cold and untouched. Martin resigned himself to making another cup. It was about all he was good for now.

~*~

Document Storage was deceptively bigger than it seemed on the outside. He'd first noticed long before it had become his living space, but after staying there for months he knew it for a fact. Martin wondered if there was some spooky supernatural reason behind it, or if it was the same effect that all libraries held, that they seemed to hold so much more in the space they inhabited. Whatever it was, it didn't take long for Martin to be well out of earshot of the main room. He still went further, to give himself more distance. He really didn't want to be caught. 

He finally settled behind a shelf packed tight with cardboard boxes. As if it already knew what to expect, the spare recorder tucked under his arm clicked itself on. "Right," Martin agreed, sinking to the floor. "If Tim asks, you weren't here, and I'm just taking a break from filing." He swallowed his guilt, uselessly checked that he was still being recorded, and opened the folder to begin reading. "Statement of Jennifer Ling, regarding a live musical performance she attended in Soho."

It wasn't the same as being sat at the big desk in the spare office, not just because he was cramped between two shelves. Besides feeling absolutely terrible, he felt rather lonely tucked away in the back amongst the shelves. Like he was the only person left in the Archives. But that was ridiculous‒ the Archivist's presence was as strong as ever. He couldn't feel lonely while he was around.

"Statement ends," Martin finished with a sigh, letting his head fall back against the cardboard behind him. "God, that just…never really gets easier, does it?" He didn't know why reading the statements affected him so much, any more than he understood why he needed to keep reading them, even with the new heavy layer of guilt. Besides the information the Archivist could give them, in the hope of keeping them safe. Even if they now knew the causes behind most of the statements. He still couldn't imagine stopping.

After listening back to the recording, quietly enjoying the Archivist's voice, and noting what he said about the musical group at the center of the story, Martin levered himself back to his feet. He threaded his way back through the shelves, not really paying attention, still stuck in the statement fugue, until he turned a corner and came face to face with Sasha. 

"Martin," she said brightly as he scrambled not to drop the recorder. "How are things with you?"

"Fine!" he squeaked, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. "Just fine, did some filing, restored some order, you know." Sasha looked pointedly towards the recorder. "This? Yeah, it, ah, followed me back there. I was just going to leave it back in the office where it belongs."

"Of course," Sasha agreed. "And if I check that tape in your pocket, it won't be anything remotely recent, because as far back in the stacks as you were, that'd be all stuff from the forties. Right?"

Martin smiled weakly at her until she shook her head. "Okay, fine. I recorded a statement," he burst out at her. "Please don't tell Tim, I feel awful about it but I felt like I had to‒" 

"Martin, it's fine," Sasha cut him off. "I mean, fine's a stretch, but I'm not going to tell Tim on you. You can relax."

Martin deflated a bit. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just don't believe that the Archivist is really dangerous. I just don't."

"I understand," she answered. "You probably have the best read on him of all of us, since you've spent so much time with him." Sasha shook her head. "Look, Tim's not taking this well. I can't really blame him, but I don't actually agree with everything he said." 

Martin sighed in relief. At least someone else believed him. "I don't want to make him mad," he told her, "but I can't just stop reading the statements. Not when we learn so much from them." And especially not when it was becoming obvious to him that the Archivist could use any company that wasn't the creepy voice from before.

"I know that feeling," Sasha said dryly. "Like we've got to go digging for the answers whether we want to or not." She sighed and shook her head. "Listen, Elias says there's an entrance to the tunnels that wasn't sealed off, a trapdoor in one of the storage rooms‒ 

"Why would they leave that open?" Martin asked desperately. 

"I don't know, probably for his paranormal orgies. Anyway," Sasha waved the idea aside as if that wasn't a more horrifying thought than any fear monster. "I want to get down there, start exploring. Tim said they might be part of the old prison that was in this area, and that they were built by Robert Smirke. There's _got_ to be something interesting down there."

"Interesting," Martin repeated weakly. "Right. Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Probably not," Sasha said with a shrug. "But I'm more worried about our other dead Archivist. I didn't get a good look when they brought Gertrude out, but Elias said she went missing when we all first started down here, and I believed him. Especially after hearing about some of the things in the statements, I thought for sure something got her. But instead she was in the tunnels the whole time?" She arched an eyebrow. "That seems like something a little closer to the Archives was involved. Maybe whatever killed her also killed‒"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Martin quickly cut her off. "What if it's still down there?"

Sasha held up her own blue recorder. "Then I hope you're right about the Archivist, and he likes me enough to warn me if I'm about to be killed." Before Martin could say anything, she pointed her perfectly painted finger at him. "If you cover for me while I go exploring down there, I'll cover for you when you sneak off to read statements. Deal?"

This was wrong, so wrong. Martin knew Tim would be upset, _very_ upset if he found out. But he couldn't turn his back on the Archivist. And he couldn't stop Sasha from figuring out her own mystery, he knew that by now. Guilt sitting heavy in his chest, he grimly nodded his agreement. 

~*~

Martin knew enough by now to know that if a recorder did something by itself, that meant _something_ was about to happen.

He stiffened as he heard his recorder click on in his shirt pocket. He hoped because it was his smaller recorder, that meant it wasn't a big issue, just something the Archivist wanted to listen in on. Then again, it could mean he would have to flee the Archives again.

The sound of footsteps descending the stairs made him tense further, ready to run if he needed to. Tim noticed as well, raising his head and pinning the entrance with a stare. Martin held his breath until the figure appeared at the entrance. They looked human, at least. And more than a little familiar. 

"Hi," she greeted them, looking around the room. "This place looks better."

Martin relaxed a bit as he recognized her as one of the officers who had questioned him and the other assistants after Gertrude's body had been found. "Yeah," he agreed, grasping for some mindless pleasantry. "They did a good job cleaning up. You're…Officer Hussein?"

"Basira," she corrected him. "I'm off duty right now. And you're‒" she pointed a finger at him- "Martin Blackwood-" the finger drifted over to Tim‒ "Timothy Stoker‒" Tim nodded before her finger moved on to Sasha's empty desk‒ "and no Sasha James?"

"Yeah." Off-duty or not, Martin still felt uneasy in her presence. Her eyes were too sharp, moving around the room like she expected to find another body. Not to mention she was the police. "Can we, uh, help you with something?"

"Yeah. I'd like to give a statement." Of course. What other excuse would an "off-duty" cop have to come talk to them. Martin kept his smile stuck to his face as he cast his eyes over to Tim, who was frowning at her, eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

"We‒ we can get you a form to fill out…" Martin offered. 

"Nah, not that fast of a writer." Basira nodded towards the empty office. "Thought I saw you guys had recording equipment when I was here last?"

Well, he'd tried. Martin offered Tim a weak smile as he led Basira into the office, who gave him a helpless shrug in return. At least he recognized that it wasn't worth arguing with her, or sending her back up to Rosie. Best to go along with it.

Martin went through the motions of starting the largest recorder, even though it was already running, because he could feel Basira's observant eyes on him. She seemed like the kind of person who would notice the weirdness of the place, and anything amiss in it.

“You know I really shouldn’t be talking about it on tape.” Martin froze where he was about to sit down, staring at her in confusion. 

“So, you…don’t want to give a statement?”

Basira shrugged as she took the seat across from him. “I’m breaking the law by talking to you. You know, confidentiality and all that. But I just want to talk about it with someone.”

‘And it has to be me,’ Martin thought miserably. “I can mark the tape for internal use only, and classify it so it’s non-referenceable. Would that help?”

Basira seemed to think it over, then nodded. “If that’s the best you can do.”

It was…strange, guiding her through the statement, asking about each incident. Not a traditional statement, or even a traditional live statement. Basira also tended not to blink, very focused on his face. The only time she ever looked away was to look at the recorder, as if she knew the Archivist was listening in through it. Martin wished, not for the first time, that the Archivist was actually there. He had a feeling he’d be much better at this than he was. He'd know the right questions to ask, what _exactly_ had happened in each incident. And he had the feeling the Archivist wouldn't be so uneasy under her stare.

Martin made no move to turn off the recorder once she was finished. "Right," he said, half to himself. "I can see why you'd want to give a statement for those." He hoped, he _really_ hoped, that that was it, and she didn't have anything else for him.

"You could say that again," Basira said with a shrug. "And I'm not the only one, there's plenty of sectioned officers who have their own stories to tell. But I'm the only one assigned to work on this case."

God he hoped she wasn't about to suggest he invite the whole sectioned force into the Archives. That sounded like a nightmare. 

"There is one other thing I wanted to ask you about."

 _Dammit_. "Yes?"

"Does this thing play tapes back?" Basira tapped the recorder on the desk, startling slightly when it turned itself off. Martin didn't know if that was just good timing or if her touching it was something he should be worried about. "There were all these old tapes with Gertude's body, and we haven't got anything at the station to listen to them with." She reached into her bag and pulled out an old cassette case, streaked with dust. "Really rather curious to hear what's on it."

"Isn't that, um…" Martin tried to find a better way to phrase what he wanted to say, and came up blank. "That should be…evidence, right? Isn't that against the law?"

"I won't tell if you won't," Basira said with a trace of mischief in her voice. The red flags waved harder. This was probably one of those cop tricks, something they could use to point towards his guilt if they decided to accuse him. He really shouldn't play the tape for her.

But what could he do? He couldn't lie and say they didn't have anything to play it on either. Martin took the tape from her and inserted it into the large tape deck. He pressed play and waited, feeling so on edge that he might snap in half. For once he dreaded hearing the Archivist's familiar voice, and the questions it would lead to from Basira when it became obvious that it was _not_ Gertude's voice on the tape.

“Case number 9790302. Yuri Utkin. Incident occurred‒”

Oh. That had to be Gertrude. Her voice came from the speakers clear and obvious, without even an undertone of static. No trace of their Archivist's familiar posh voice.

'Maybe he only speaks over Assistant's recordings,' Martin thought to himself as the statement began. He was soon sucked into the events described, feeling the familiar feeling centering in his spine that came with the statements. The details clicked into place in his mind, fake creatures and things not quite fitting right. And circuses. This was definitely a Stranger statement. 

He expected the Archivist to cut in for his own comments at the end, the way he usually did for statements given directly, but Gertrude went on with her own research. He had no idea if what she was saying was true‒ not until he checked himself‒ but perhaps the Archivist's talent of knowing what happened to statement-givers was shared with her. That was…a possibility. Something that could happen after so many years working together. That could be all it was.

“-must have been something rather special.” Gertrude finished, and paused, in a way that seemed almost familiar. When her voice continued again she sounded almost annoyed. “I don’t suppose you have anything you’d like to add?” She paused again, and Martin knew with utter certainty that she was waiting for the Archivist to say something. He did as well, momentarily gripped with how he'd explain _that_ to Basira, but the Archivist's voice didn't come. Not even a hint of static. Gertrude sighed. "Very well. Recording ends."

Martin half expected the Archivist's voice to finally pop up, perhaps snidely correcting Gertrude about something, but there was only silence. After nearly a minute of waiting, Martin had to reach out and turn the recorder off himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd needed to do that.

Basira must have seen something on his face. "What do you make of that?" she asked. 

This he could bluff his way out of. "Do you ever get any…weird coincidences, in your line of work?" he asked with a tilt of his head. "Like, you'll catch a bunch of bad guys and they all have red hair, or a string of burglaries where the exact same item is taken? Just something rather odd?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Well…" Martin smiled half-heartedly. "For the Archives, its circuses. There's a lot of weird circus statements around here. No idea why that is." He actually did have a pretty good idea why, but Officer Hussein didn't need to know that.

"You know, usually with a pattern like that, that's a sign that there's something going on." Basira's voice was even, almost friendly, but Martin could hear the warning. "Any idea who she's talking to at the end there?"

Yes he did, but he certainly wasn't about to tell her that. Although… "Maybe she was talking to the ghost?" he suggested in a half-joking tone.

As expected, Basira gave him a deeply unimpressed look. "The ghost?"

"Yeah, well…it's a bit of a joke down here. You know, that it's haunted. Something weird happens, like a file gets corrupted or the sink stopper going missing, we blame the ghost." It was completely ridiculous, an utter mindless lie, but Basira seemed to believe him. Or rather, she believed that he was the kind of idiot who would believe something like that.

"This place does seem haunted, I'll give you that." She held out her hand, and it took him far too long to realize that she wanted the tape back. Okay, maybe he was that kind of idiot. "There's plenty more where this came from, so I'll be back. If that works for you?"

Martin weakly smiled and nodded, wondering what he'd just gotten himself into. Basira left, and he sighed from the bottom of his lungs, easing his stress out as he leaned back in the chair. "Sorry bout that," he directed towards his recorder in his chest pocket. "Didn't mean to throw you under the bus. Although, you have to admit, you're pretty handy to have around to blame weird occurrences on," he chuckled dourly as he pushed further back in the seat until he was nearly horizontal. One hand rose to rest on his recorder, its shape filling his palm, an already well-known weight on his chest.

"I guess it never occurred to me that you didn't have to do your statement thing," he said quietly. "I thought maybe it was a compulsion, and I know you've been trying to get the information out to help us. But Gertrude…you didn't tell her anything..." He trailed off, absently tapping his thumb against the recorder, wondering if there was even a point in asking. "What did she do to deserve the silent treatment?"

" _She kept me in the dark_."

Martin's heart lept in his chest. His grip on the recorder beneath his shirt tightened, until he could feel the heat of it burning through the fabric. "What do you mean?" he asked, instead of questioning how the Archivist was speaking to him all of a sudden. 

His voice was very faint amidst the static. " _Gertrude didn't want anyone to know her plans. Especially not me._ " Martin swallowed hard at the feeling in the Archivist's tone. " _She only used the tape recorders when she wanted knowledge from me. Otherwise she kept me blind_."

Martin felt a cold chill spread through his limbs. There was so much in the Archivist's words that he wanted to know more about, but all he could think about was the Archivist's connection to the recorders, how that was his only way to interact and communicate even a little bit. And Gertrude had taken that from him.

"You…" he managed to whisper hoarsely, blinking towards the ceiling. "You know I wouldn't do that to you, right?" 

" _I know, Martin._ " The words were nearly completely lost to the static, but Martin still heard them. " _I know you wouldn't._ "

~*~

Helen's statement was…a lot. Her terror from the hallways was so painfully evident, but he somehow felt…sad. Something was wrong, deeply deeply wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"Statement ends," Martin finished for her when she trailed off, looking lost. "Helen, was the man you spoke to…was his name Michael?"

Helen gasped as she looked up at him. "Yes! How did you know?" 

"He's a‒ we've heard of him before. It's a bit confusing." 

She laughed mirthlessly. "You don't say."

"I think you should take some more time off," Martin suggested. "Stay somewhere familiar. Like, really familiar." Hopefully that would be enough. "We'll look into it for you."

As Helen stood, Martin checked to see if the recorder was still running. It had stopped at some point, but he could still hear static, coming from the spare sitting on the shelf behind him. Then the one in his shirt pocket abruptly clicked on, the familiar static rising quickly into a shrill tone as Helen reached for the door to leave.

"Not that door!"

Helen stumbled back from the yellow door in shock, the realization plain on her face before she crumpled with a sob to the floor.

"Oh no. Sasha!" Martin called as he rushed to Helen's side. He only took his eyes off the door for a second, but when he looked back up it was gone. The recorders had stopped squealing too, returning to their usual quiet comforting hum.

Sasha had been keeping watch for Tim, but she came running when he called. "Oh my god," she blurted in surprise as she rushed in through the one and only door of the office. "What happened?" 

"She‒ she encountered Michael," Martin told her, carefully patting Helen's back. "Can you stay with her while I get some tea?"

"Right, of course." Martin dodged out of the way of Sasha's shooing hands and fled the room as she took his place next to the sobbing woman. He hesitated by the spare desk that had become their personal canteen, but chose to head up to the break room instead. Helen would want a lot of cream in her tea and they didn't have any down in the Archives. 

The hallways leading to the break room were unusually empty as Martin hurried along. That was already enough to put him on edge as he moved further into the building, away from the Archives, but with every step, it seemed like the static coming from his recorder pitched higher again. It rose and rose until it was squealing a warning, one he wasn't entirely sure he needed. Not when it was already plainly obvious that something was wrong.

Martin stopped before he reached the corner leading to the break room. There was a transition strip of plastic on the floor where the bland office carpet met the bland office linoleum of the break room. But staring down at it, Martin could see the strip was currently dividing the normal carpet from a new one, one with patterns and colors that clashed in his brain, leaving an after-image imprinted on his eyes. Like a poisonous animal's bright colors signaling danger.

Carefully, without letting his toes cross the line, he leaned over to glance around the corner and down the hall. It stretched, unfamiliar and endless, listing to the left and lined with mirrors. Martin swallowed hard, a pit in his stomach as he leaned back away from the wrongness. He could feel a presence at his back, looming in close and sharp and dangerous. His recorder continued to sing a warning as he took one deep breath, then another. Right. 

"You must be a big fan of _The Shining_." The lack of response he received seemed…bemused. "Personally I could never see what the fuss was about with that movie. I mean sure it was unnerving but I didn't find it as scary as everyone else seems to." Especially not now, with the real horrors he was facing. "I saw this documentary about it once, and they pointed out all the ways in the film that the hotel doesn't fit together. Hallways leading outside in the middle of the building and the carpet pattern changing between shots. Any other director they'd say that was a continuity error, but apparently Kubrick was just _that particular_ so it means it had to be deliberate. Something to add to the scary atmosphere. They say our brains pick up on the weirdness even if it never actually registers."

"And weren't you scared, Assistant?"

The voice behind him sounded gleefully dangerous. Martin forced himself to be calm as he turned around to face the figure standing behind him. Michael looked exactly how Martin had imagined him from Sasha and Helen's statement, everything long and thin and sharp, but…there was something else, hiding under his sight. Something smaller and colder and much more familiar. 

"Not really," Martin replied easily. "Just a bit unnerved. Told you, never really saw what all the fuss was about."

Michael grinned far too wide, tilted his head back and _laughed_. It made colors bloom across Martin's eyes and went on for far too long, echoing down the halls. Between the laugh and the continued squealing of the recorder, Martin's head began to ache.

"Oh, I can see why the Archivist likes you," Michael sighed once his laughter faded out. "Maybe I should take you instead, since he won't let me have Helen back."

The pressure in the air increased as the squealing got louder. Martin reached up to frantically cover the recorder in his pocket. "That's not really fair," he told Michael. 

"Nothing about this is fair, Assistant." The mirth was gone from his voice, though the smile remained. Martin stared into Michael's face, despite the pain at the back of his skull. He was scared, he was so scared, and yet…

"Helen escaped you," he pointed out. "She got out. You aren't going to get much more by pulling her in again." 

Michael seemed to consider this, tilting his head to the side further and further until it was nearly upside down. "If you say so," he finally conceded. "I do need something in her place." From the way Michael was eyeing him, it was clear he still thought Martin was a good candidate. "You know your Archivist can't protect you outside of the Archives. He can do nothing but watch if I decide to reach out and take you." The curls of his hair were shifting, getting a bit too close as he leaned in, a hungry look in his eyes.

"How bout a cup of tea while you think it over?" It was a desperate offer, but it was all he had. Michael paused, scanning Martin's face, frozen in a painfully stuck smile. His eyes shifted colors unnervingly. The smile that twisted it's way across his face was equally unnerving. 

"Yes," he finally said. "It would be amusing to watch you try to convince me." 

Head and heart pounding, Martin forced himself to turn around, putting his back to Michael. The carpet and hallway were normal again, but he kept his grip on his recorder, hoping it would warn him before he took a step too far. He made it to the break room, mercifully empty, and lit the burner on the stove.

"Do you know the Archivist?" he asked as casually as he could while he filled the kettle. "Either Gertrude or‒"

"Gertrude Robinson was no Archivist." Martin closed his eyes as pain bloomed across his skull. His mouth tasted like it was filled with metal. The screaming whine from the recorder was joined with another from his own brain. All he could do was focus on not throwing up.

The feeling faded after a few very long moments. "And no," Michael answered easily. "He has been outside my reach for some time. And Michael was always discouraged from ever speaking to the Archivist."

"Alright then," Martin said quietly as he pulled down three mugs. He couldn't even think to question what Michael said, not when all of his focus was needed to complete every action. He pulled three teabags from the container on the shelf and added them to two of the mugs, but stopped right before he added the third. His fingers curled into a fist around the bag. 

That wasn't…he didn't drink tea. 

Martin put the bag back and reached instead for the tin of hot cocoa powder. "I suppose none of us have properly thanked you," he said, scooping two heaping spoonfuls into the third mug.

"Thanked me for what?" There was deep amusement in Michael's voice. Better than malicious glee.

Martin turned to the fridge and pulled out the carton of cream, and the jar of peanut butter shared by three of the people up in Research. They wouldn't notice if he nicked a small spoonful. "For saving our lives," he answered as he poured the boiling water into the mugs. The cocoa would have been better with heated milk, but he added enough creamer to suffice. "Sasha learned how to kill the worms with CO2 because of you."

"That was not my intention." Of course it wasn't. Martin wondered if Michael even knew his own intentions half the time. He stirred the cocoa together with the spoon he dipped in the peanut butter, watching the bubbles foam up around the edges. Not perfect, but good enough. He turned and offered the mug to Michael. 

"Still. Thank you. From all of us." Michael blinked at him, perhaps for the first time, and carefully took the mug from his hand. Martin watched him consider it like he'd never been offered a cup of cocoa before and wasn't quite sure how to proceed. Eventually, Michael brought the steaming mug to his lips and took a long sip, draining nearly half the mug. Swallowing, he tilted his head back, almost too far, as his eyes slipped closed and he stood very…still. He looked a lot more human.

"You are welcome, Assistant." Michael finally replied. He opened his eyes to consider Martin again. "I suppose I'll let you stay," he finally decided. "Let's hope the Archivist can keep you."

"Let's," Martin agreed as he watched Michael turn away with another sip. He finished Sasha and Helen's respective teas, breathing carefully as the squealing from his recorder finally faded. He returned to the Archives, delivered the tea safely, and barely made it to his desk before collapsing under the weight of his migraine. 

~*~

Apparently Basira was back. Martin had missed her arrival, trying to sort a stack of documents from 1983 and 1938 that had become mixed together, but he noticed when he went back to his desk that the spare office door was closed, and Tim's voice could be heard through it. Martin grimaced. He knew Tim would be very unhappy with having to take a statement. On instinct, he started making tea for him, only slightly surprised that he was already running out of teabags. It had been a stressful few weeks.

The tea was just finished and waiting on Tim's desk when the office door was held open by a smiling Tim, politely ushering Basira out. Martin smiled at her as she passed his desk, and got a nod in return. As soon as the doors closed, Tim dropped the pleasant smile from his face and turned to Martin. "That was a thing," he informed him, frantically moving back around his desk. "That was a whole thing, stuff about the Archivist and the Eye‒ where's Sasha?"

"The Library," Martin lied. She was actually exploring the tunnels, but he couldn't tell Tim that. Tim rolled his eyes.

"She'll be there forever then. I gotta tell you about that recording the cop had." He scrambled from the room, back to the empty office, as Martin stared after him.

"Basira brought another recording?" he called after him.

"Yeah, some excuse about their station not able to requisition their own player," Tim called back. "That's a total lie‒ aha! I knew you were eavesdropping." Tim came back to the main room, carrying his red recorder. "No, cop lady is trying to pin one of us for Gertude's murder. She's not interested in the tapes or anything, she barely even noticed me flirting‒" 

"Oh yes, that's how you know it's serious," Sasha quipped as she walked in. Martin dearly hoped Tim didn't notice she hadn't come from the direction of the stairs. "Someone not falling for the infamous Stoker charms? Simply unheard of."

"Don't act like you're immune either, Miss James," Tim shot back. "That's not important though," he continued, ignoring Sasha's angry flush. "The recording she brought in‒ it's about _another Archivist_."

Martin felt himself growing very still. "You mean…you mean like _our_ Archivist," he said with a nod towards the recorder. "Not just someone in charge of an archive, like Gertrude."

"Exactly! But, well, yeah," Tim laughed. "Wait until you hear the statement. I think we've been underestimating Gertrude."

"Do we have it though?" Sasha asked. "Didn't Basira take it back with her?"

"She did. But‒" Tim held up his recorder, rattling it in a way that made Martin uncomfortable. "Mister Know-it-All was listening in. So we've got a copy."

Martin blinked as Tim set the recorder down and began rewinding. That idea hadn't even occurred to him. He wondered if the Archivist had done it on purpose, to re-record a tape he no longer had, or if Tim's recorder had simply followed him like it always did. Another question for the Archivist.

They gathered around his desk to listen to the old live statement. At first Martin thought it would be a Slaughter statement, dealing with wars and hospitals, but that quickly shifted as Sergeant Walter Heller spoke about the strange tomb he had found, the feeling of being utterly watched while he was there. Martin knew that feeling very well. 

And then he spoke of the creature he had found there, and Martin felt a deeply unsettled feeling rise in his chest. It wasn't fear, not of that thing…it was sadness, deep and unfamiliar and aching.

Much like the other statement, instead of the Archivist speaking up at the end, Gertrude’s follow-up was by her alone, going on about the history of the Library of Alexandria. When she began speaking about the creature, Martin felt the cold shivers multiply across his skin. He did not like the tone of her voice.

"Perhaps it too was once an archivist. Who knows?" Gertrude’s voice dipped further into chilling. "Perhaps if my usual methods work, there may yet be a way of getting rid of you. End recording."

There was absolutely no doubt in Martin's mind that she had been speaking to their Archivist at the end.

"So." Tim spoke up in the silence. "Sounds like undead Archivists are a thing."

"And Gertrude knows more than she ever let on," Sasha agreed, leaning back in her seat to begin tapping at her phone. "She knew about the Archivist, but as far as I've heard she never told anyone about him. At least I never did." She glanced over at Martin. "You've been here longest. You never heard anything, right?"

Martin shook his head. His throat was too tight to say anything. That old Archivist… it had been there, alone, for a very long time. And there hadn't been a trace of pity in Gertrude’s voice about it.

"Don't want to think about how many other Archives might be out there," Tim grumbled, rewinding the tape automatically. "How many other places the Eye thing might have. You think the Institute's sister orgs might be part of this?"

Sasha sucked a sudden breath. "Well, we don't have to worry about the thing from the statement," she said grimly, turning her phone so they could see what was on the screen. Some old newspaper article, from the look of it, about an explosion near the place the sergeant had mentioned in the statement. "Looks like Gertrude’s usual method is…explosives."

Tim barked a laugh. "Didn't see that coming. I thought she sounded a little less 'frail old lady' in her follow-up." He abruptly groaned. "Go figure she had a hidden side too. More mysteries for the Archives."

"Spose we're lucky she doesn't seem to still be around," Sasha said with a distracted frown. "Can you imagine a pyro ghost? I'm surprised she didn't try to burn this place down herself."

"Maybe she did," Tim suggested. "And that's how she ended up dead.” He scoffed. “Bet the Archivist was glad about that. Too bad she didn’t take him out like she did the‒”

Martin shot to his feet. "I have to‒" he choked out, blindly scrambling for the recorder and ejecting the tape. "I'll go file this," he managed to get out, and hurried away, blinking furiously as the room blurred around him. He made it into document storage and fell against one of the stacks, muffling his sobs in his hand, the unfamiliar pain and sadness and horror for the other Archivist, and his, taking him over completely. There really wasn't anything else he could do. 

~*~

Martin almost wished they were dealing with worms again.

As terrifying and disgusting and dangerous as they were, the worms were something they could fight, could plan for. They _knew_ what was after them and what they were dealing with. As it was currently, without a clear and obvious threat putting them on edge…it was just miserable. 

Tim was growing grumpier by the day, pulling into himself and lurking around suspiciously. Martin was finding it harder and harder to slip away to read statements to the Archivist, and as bad as he felt for their ghostly companion, he also felt the tiniest bit relieved that he wasn't going behind Tim's back. He didn't know how Sasha was faring with her trips into the tunnels, but there seemed to be a strange tension between the two, so Martin imagined she was having the same difficulty he was.

Besides that, Sasha seemed pricklier than usual. Martin suspected it had to do with the massive undertaking of organizing the Archives. It certainly wasn't an easy task, it was a proper mess, and Martin could see the frustration on her face every time they crossed paths. This wasn't her idea of being productive, not when there were so many juicy questions waiting to be dug into.

He didn't know how to help either of them. He made tea and organized files, but that barely seemed to make a difference. The helplessness was bringing him down with the rest of them, pulling down the mood in the Archives, until he could barely stand to be around any of them.

And on top of all that, there was the situation with the Archivist, which…Martin couldn't bring himself to admit he couldn't do much about. He could barely get away with reading statements, and hated the feeling of failure of not being able to do so, combined with the guilt he still felt. He found himself muttering comments and observations into his recorder, which was almost always tucked into his shirt pocket. That helped, but he couldn’t think of anything else he could do to help. 

He did try very hard not to think about the other options. The one Gertrude had taken, and the one he knew Tim was considering. A way to silence the Archivist permanently. And maybe…maybe that's what he wanted, why he had re-recorded the statement for then to hear. Perhaps he feared an existence like the Archivist in Alexandria, never-ending and empty. After all, it wasn’t like Martin would always be around to read him statements. But that thought opened a gaping hole in his chest, filled with ice and sadness. He couldn’t help him that way, even if that’s what he wanted. He just couldn’t.

He couldn't even make him a cup of tea. As ridiculous as the idea was, that made him feel even more sad. He felt like he had a pretty good idea of how the Archivist would take his tea, and the thought of never being able to make him a cup, give him such a small piece of comfort…it hurt worse than anything else.

There was, however, one thing he could try.

~*~

Martin groaned as he slid down to the cold floor, the cardboard at his back shifting against his weight. This was a bad idea, it really was. Reading two statements a day was bad, it drained him worse than anything else, left him feeling terrible and barely able to close his eyes without seeing horrible things. And returning to his hiding place back in the stacks for the second time that day was the worst idea. If he was too drained to get back up, he'd be stuck there, and then Tim would find him and say…words. Loudly. Which was very bad.

But…

He couldn't forget the way the Archivist sounded when he spoke after taking Basira's statement and playing the recording. How his voice, though nearly drowned with static, was soft but intense, like it was desperate to be heard. So much care in each word, even with so little said.

If reading two statements meant that he could hear it again, if it could let the Archivist speak freely, he would bear it.

Martin started the spare recorder and set it on the floor, leaving his own in his shirt pocket. It felt right having it there. He opened the statement file across his knees, a different one than what he’d read that morning, and began to read to the quiet static filling the space around him.

"Statement of Andrea Nunis, regarding a series of encounters in the streets of Genoa, Italy."

He had no way of knowing which statements the Archivist liked best, if he even had a preference. But this one had Gerry in it, and even he had to smile at the mental image of the Archivist's favorite angry burned-scarred goth taking a vacation. And as far as his brief research could tell, this one had a positive ending. Andrea was still alive, and even travelling again. It was… good.

"Statement ends," he finished, closing his eyes and leaning back against the cardboard as the spare recorder kept running to record the Archivist's thoughts. He hadn't felt the shivery queasiness and the aching tiredness while he was reading the statement, but now he very definitely was. It was all he could do to sit, and breathe, and wait for his turn to speak.

Finally, the spare clicked off. Martin exhaled deeply, his hand finding his recorder in his pocket. "Archivist?" he asked. "Can you hear me?"

" _Yes_."

Even though he was expecting it, Martin still nearly jumped at the Archivist's voice. Not that he hadn't thought it would work, but…his voice sounded louder, under the static. Deliberate. As if the Archivist was sitting right there in front of him, having a normal conversation during work hours with him. It was good, it was so good to hear. Too good, in fact, as Martin completely forgot the script he had carefully planned. 

"How‒ how are you?" he asked, and thumped his head against the boxes behind him. Really? That's what he had to ask? The first chance for the Archivist to speak freely in who knew how long, and Martin had to ask him ‒ a _ghost_ ‒ how he was feeling. That was the most stupid‒ 

The Archivist's reply cut off his thoughts. " _I'm better, Martin._ " He did sound better. He sounded…actually happy, for the first time Martin had ever heard. It was so plainly audible in his voice that Martin's heart stuttered. 

"Oh," Martin breathed. "That's good." Was that the right thing to say? Better compared to what? Did he even want to know? "Is there…is there anything you want to say?" That was good, opening the floor up to him, not to Martin's brainless comments. That's what he should have done in the first place.

The Archivist answered immediately. " _Tell Sasha she's right_." Under the static, Martin heard what might have been a chuckle. " _Of course she's right. The Fears…the classifications…they don't fit right, never have. They're exactly the kind of classification some heartless rich scholar would come up with. I’ve been using them because that's what I learned. She can come up with something much better, rather than chasing dead ends in the tunnels._ "

"Of course she can," Martin agreed, eyes still closed and head tipped back. If he didn't have his eyes open, he could pretend the Archivist was really there, the way it felt like he was. Crowding in close to him, every word a separate kind of urgent, to ensure Martin heard every one of them.

" _Tell Tim I'm…I'm sorry._ " There was no hiding the sadness in his voice now. " _I know what he's going through and how he's feeling. I know how hard this is for him. When everything around you is out of control it's…difficult. He needs your support, and Sasha's. I'm trying, but…I'm afraid there's not much I can do._ "

"I know," Martin said weakly. He could only imagine the way the Archivist had to feel, because he was feeling it as well. Regret and fear and dread over what was out there, but the fierce desire to keep them safe underneath. All of them.

" _Martin_ ," the Archivist said, as if he heard the thoughts he wasn't trying to have. " _I need_ you _to stay safe._ "

Martin's breath caught in his throat. "Course," he forced out past the lump, trying not to think about the care in the Archivist's voice, what it really meant. It couldn't mean what he wanted it to. "You need someone to read the statements for you."

"No, _Martin. Not just that_." Martin imagined the Archivist leaning in even closer to him, trying to get his point across. " _Because in all of my miserable existence there is only one bright point of light that I have, and that's you. I can't lose you._ "

"Oh." It was hard to breathe, like there was a pressure in his chest, the recorder burning into his skin. It was too much, he could hear it in the Archivist's voice as it began to fade away into static again.

" _I wish I could have told you sooner._ "

Martin squeezed the recorder under his hand harder, even as the pressure eased and the static continued unhindered. It took him far too long before he could bear to open his eyes to the empty Archives. 

~*~

“Hey, Martin?”

Martin jumped slightly at the sound of Sasha’s voice. He turned just in time to see her brushing cobwebs out of her hair. She held out a rather familiar mug to him. “Isn’t this one of ours?”

Martin blinked when he finally recognized it. It was the mug he’d given Michael his hot cocoa in, except all of the colors were now inverted. “It is,” he told her. "Where did you find it?" 

"In the tunnels," she answered as she sat it on her desk. "I think something or someone is down there. I've found bits of garbage and whatnot. Also I think the tunnels are changing? I keep finding new rooms that _definitely_ weren't there before." She grinned, slightly maniacally. "Either the tunnels have a mind of their own or something's moving them. Or it could be both," she said with a shrug, seemingly unbothered. 

That was the thing about her. No matter how scared she was, no matter what she was facing, she dug in until she got to the bottom of it. Martin admired that, even if he could never imagine having such strength himself. 

"Something else interesting down there." Sasha continued, pulling her blue recorder from her pocket and holding it up for him to see. "I've been experimenting with this too. You know how they keep following us around?"

"Not…really?" Martin answered. "I mean, I know Tim's keeps showing back up no matter how many times he throws it out."

"Exactly. Mine does too. I suppose you haven't noticed since yours is always on you." Before Martin could ask how she knew that she carried on excitedly. "I've left mine in the Library, at home‒ I even made a trip across the city to leave it somewhere I'd never been. And it always came back to my desk within a few hours. Except‒" she leaned forward dramatically‒ "when I left it in the tunnels. It was still there when I went back a few days later."

"Huh." Martin wasn't sure what else to say. He understood the implication, obviously, but he really didn't like the idea. The Archivist's warning for her to stop exploring suddenly made a lot more sense.

"Right?" Sasha barreled on despite his non-answer. "I don't think the Archivist can see down there. That would explain the whole Jane Prentiss thing. I might try reading a statement down there next, see if it's only my voice. That could give us a better idea about what's really going on there."

"So," Martin cut her off, already regretting what he was about to say. "Don't ask me how I know this, but I think you should stop going in the tunnels."

Sasha almost tripped on her own feet, jarred out of her pacing by his words. She stared at him. "What?'

"I just think you should be focusing on the Fears and their categories," Martin weakly suggested. "They're a bit more relevant to the Archives."

Sasha blinked at him before her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did you tell Tim?"

"No!" Martin shot out. "Of course not! I just…I don't think you're going to get more out of them."

"Are you kidding me?" Sasha demanded, starting to pace again. "I can't stop now, I'm not done down there! I've barely scratched the figurative surface. It's a maze but I feel like I can figure it out, I'm so close to finding my way. Honestly, I don't know how they managed to find Gertude's body down there, it's‒"

Sasha's head snapped up towards the entrance to the Archives at the same time that her recorder turned on in her hand. Martin looked towards there as well, feeling a nervous pit grow in his stomach as the sure and steady footsteps grew louder. He was not at all relieved when he saw that it was Officer Hussein's partner, the detective, whose eyes immediately locked on Sasha.

"Sasha James," she greeted, without any type of friendliness in her voice. She didn't even look at Martin. 

"Detective Alice 'Daisy' Tonner," Sasha replied back, managing to put some fake brightness in her voice that Martin recognized from previous customer service jobs. 

"Just Daisy." As if that wasn't the most ridiculous nickname a woman like her could have. "Got this for you, from Basira." She held up an old cassette tape. "And I figured I should give you my statement while I'm at it."

Sasha glanced at Martin, who pointedly looked at her recorder. Obviously he wasn't her target. Sasha nodded grimly and pocketed her recorder. "Right this way," she said in an overly-cheerful way. Martin wondered if that was just a reflex towards authority that could shoot her. Certainly she didn't act like this towards Elias. 

The door to the empty office had just clicked shut when Tim came barreling into the room, looking around frantically. "Where's Sasha?"

Martin pointed at the closed door, only slightly relieved that he didn't have to lie for once. "Getting Detective Tonner's statement."

Tim's frown grew deeper and more concerned. "You mean that officer that looks like she fantasizes about chewing on your bones? You let her go in there with Sasha alone?"

"She's got her recorder," Martin said defensively. "Pretty sure the Archivist won't let anything happen to her."

Tim looked like he wanted to say something to that, but instead he shook his head, stalking over to his desk. He turned his chair around so he could sit facing backwards in it, folding his arms over the seat back and propping his chin on them, glaring at the closed door.

Martin coughed awkwardly. "I'm going to the break room," he said as he stood, retrieving the altered mug from Sasha's desk. Tim barely gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

Martin sighed to himself as he made his way to the break room. Obviously Michael was one of the things in the tunnels, which made sense, but that was also extremely concerning. He hoped Sasha would take his advice, but somehow, telling her it came from the Archivist didn't feel right. He wanted to keep what the Archivist said to himself.

Almost on autopilot, Martin prepared another mug of hot cocoa. If this was going to be a thing, if it helped even a little to keep Sasha safe, he'd make as much hot cocoa that Michael could ever want. He returned to the Archives, mentally adding hot cocoa powder and more tea to his internal grocery list. He left the mug next to the trapdoor, and didn't turn to look when he heard it creak open behind him.

~*~

Martin set a plate of biscuits by Tim's head, following it with his preferred mug of tea. He smiled encouragingly when Tim tilted his head up away from his phone to look at him. "Hi Tim," he greeted. "How you feeling?"

"Like garbage," Tim grumbled as he sat up. "Reading other people's stories of how they spectacularly quit their jobs, fantasizing about doing it myself. You know, the usual."

"Hmm," Martin agreed as he took a seat next to him with his own cup of tea. "I can see you stripping down to your pants, flipping off Elias while backflipping out of the building."

That got an actual laugh from Tim. A short and harsh one, but a laugh nonetheless. "I was actually thinking of carrying you and Sasha out under my arm like a rugby ball while the Institute burnt up behind us."

Martin swallowed. The mental image was amusing, but not what he wanted to hear. "You really want to leave this place that badly?" he asked.

"Course," Tim grumbled around a bite of biscuit. "Would have left months ago but I can't leave you and Sasha." He sighed. "It's worse now. I can't shake that feeling that _something bad's_ about to happen. And I can't figure out where it's coming from."

Martin tried to keep the shiver of anxiety he felt from running down his spine. They were safe, in the Archives. He was sure of it. "Not worms, again?" he asked hesitantly. 

"God, hope not. Got enough nightmares for years." Tim shifted uncomfortably, and Martin felt bad for bringing them up. "Besides, this feels different. The worms felt…" he made a weird wiggling motion with his fingers. "I mean, it felt like Corruption. You know, icky and unclean." The twist to his mouth was not his usual amused smirk. "This time…it feels like something's staring me right in the face but I can't see it." He gestured broadly with his biscuit. "That's, what, Stranger, do you think?"

"Are we in danger now?" Martin asked worriedly. 

Tim sighed and shook his head. "No, that's the other thing. With Jane it felt like the threat was closing in on us. This is…well, it's not. It's just…there." He sighed, hunching over his desk. "Making me feel like I'm losing my mind."

"You're not," Martin assured him quickly. "I know the feeling, and I believe you, Tim, I really do." Tim shot him a grateful look, and Martin timidly smiled back. "I'm sorry you're going through this."

Tim shrugged uncomfortably. "Not much to be done about it," he grumbled. "Can't leave, can't keep statements from coming down here, can't keep you two out of trouble, can't ever shake that feeling of being watched. We're just…stuck."

Martin reached over to him, resting his hand on his shoulder. He should have done this sooner, should have tried talking to Tim properly instead of tiptoeing around. "And you think it's the Archivist."

"Who else?" Tim snapped. "He's probably listening in right now‒" Martin thought guiltily about his recorder in his shirt pocket‒ "probably got some grandmaster plan to gaslight us into trusting him before he betrays us. That's really what this feels like."

Martin swallowed the sick feeling rising in his throat and sat back. "I see your point, he acknowledged, "but I don't want to believe it."

"Of course you don't." A hint of anger crept back in Tim's voice. "You think we can just have a tea party and everything will be fine. Life doesn't work like that."

Martin's hands clenched on his mug. "I know that," he said miserably, staring at the whirls of steam. "Fifteen years experience knowing that." He felt Tim grow very still next to him. "Not much else to be done, after all."

"Shit, Martin," Tim started to say, but Martin cut him off. 

"No, this is about you and what you're dealing with. Not me."

"Yeah, but if I'm making you miserable…" Tim groaned. "I'm sorry. I am, aren't I. You and Sasha and‒" 

"You're the one who's gotten hurt," Martin talked over him. "Worse than either of us. You didn't sign up for these kinds of things and you're rightfully angry that you can't get out. I get it. I do." He bit his lip. "But how do you think the Archivist feels?" Martin said hesitantly. "If he really is looking out for us. He can't really do anything besides warn us. At least you can get an axe and go crazy if you need to."

Tim sighed, long and very heavily, and was quiet for a very long time. Finally, he spoke, muffled by his hands in front of his mouth. "If you're right, bet he'd be pretty miserable. Worse than me."

"I want to trust him," Martin asserted. "Like I trust you, and Sasha. Any one of you could hurt me, easily, since we're all so close." He very deliberately didn't look at Tim, didn't want to see the pity in his eyes. "But I'm choosing to trust. No matter how scary the idea is."

After a long moment, Tim reached over to run his hand across his back. "Thank you for trusting me." His voice was thick with emotion, and Martin immediately felt bad for making him feel bad. "I'm sorry for…everything. But I'm gonna try again. I'm gonna keep you and Sasha safe, I swear it." He pulled back with a groan. "Go ahead and start reading statements again. It didn't make much of a difference when you weren't. I thought we'd be better off ignoring all the mystery and spooky stuff, but…" he trailed off, and his voice became very quiet. "S'pose it doesn't matter."

"It matters," Martin reminded him. "You matter. Please, talk to me and Sasha more when you're feeling like this. I mean it," he said forcefully when Tim looked like he wanted to protest. "Imagine the lecture Sasha would give you about toxic masculinity if she found out you were holding this in."

Tim's laugh sounded like it hurt. "I'll try," he whispered. When Martin stood to give him some space, he reached out and grabbed at his hand. "I love you, buddy," he said sincerely. "Don't ever accuse me of toxic masculinity again."

For the first time in what felt like weeks, the laugh they shared felt right.

~*~

“Besides vampires and the occasional human, Trevor Herbert's focus has shifted mainly to other monsters, like the creature he encountered in the homeless shelter. It was a denizen of the Web, usually lurking on the streets to encourage others to sink further into their addictions." The Archivist's voice was dry with disproval. "The streets are well rid of it. Currently, Trevor continues his partnership with Julia Montauk, Hunting in America. Recording ends.”

“America, hmm?” Martin hummed to himself as he levered himself to his feet. “Wonder if they've gone after Mothman.” He really didn’t expect a response, especially not to something so stupid. But as he straightened up, he felt the recorder had heated up through his shirt fabric, before he felt it make a strange pulse against his chest that made him nearly leap out of his skin. 

“Christ! What was _that_?” he hissed, pressing his hand against it. He received no answer except another pulse, which was alarming enough to have him hurrying back to the main office. Something was happening, that was obvious, something that the Archivist was warning him about. He had to tell the others.

As it turned out, there was no need. He burst into the room to find Sasha and Tim were already well aware of the threat, standing together to face down the scary detective and Officer Hussein.

"Martin. Get over here." Tim demanded without taking his eyes off the other pair. When Martin stumbled close enough he reached out and snagged his arm, pulling him in so the three of them were practically on top of each other. 

"What's going on?" Martin asked. Against his chest, his recorder was nearly pulsing with the beat of his heart.

"We're just trying to get some answers from Ms. James," Basira answered, voice deliberately calm. "In regards to Gertrude Robinson's death."

"And you and your friend standing in our way isn't making her seem very innocent." Detective Tonner's voice was chillingly cold, and the threat underneath made Martin want to shrink back. He almost would have if not for Tim's grip on him. "The opposite, in fact."

"That's what I said!" Sasha pushed against Tim's back, and Martin realized they were less of a barrier keeping her safe and more of a defensive wall keeping her from storming up to the officers and giving them a piece of her mind. "This is stupid, because I didn't do it, and you can't prove I did. You have. no. evidence!"

"Overheard you talking about Gertude's body in the tunnels," Daisy said with a trace of triumph in her tone. Martin felt Tim grow stiff next to him. "Sounded to me like you were amazed that they found the body after you hid it so well." She nodded towards Martin's desk, and he noticed the larger recorder was sitting there. "I'd imagine there'd be a tape lying around here somewhere that proves I'm right."

"That's not‒" Sasha tried to speak up, but Basira cut her off.

"We've also spoken with your boss, Mr. Bouchard. According to him, he's been holding off your advancement to Head Archivist due to his own suspicions." She glanced over at Daisy, and Martin noticed the detective had inched closer, as if waiting to strike. "Seems that not long before her disappearance, Gertrude expressed interest in making you her successor."

"Elias is full of it," Tim said bitterly. "He was never gonna make Sasha Head Archivist. Didn't want another Gertrude on his hands."

"Besides, we already have an Archivist," Martin blurted out. Basira gave him a look. 

"Right, that'd be the 'ghost' you all kept talking about?"

"Told you their stories didn't match up," Daisy practically growled. 

"This is ridiculous," Sasha snapped. "You're jumping to conclusions and you know it, because you have no evidence. You've barely spoken to anyone else in your 'investigation'. Have you even talked to anyone up in Research? Any one of them can tell you I was there when Gertrude was shot. Instead you're down here hassling me hoping I'll slip up and implicate myself."

Daisy blinked coldly at her. "How did you know that Gertrude was shot?"

The realization was slow to sink in, but once it did, Martin felt like the floor dropped out from under his feet. He caught a glimpse of the look on Tim's face, equally stunned with knowledge, as they both turned to look at Sasha. She looked horrified, hunching into herself with her hands over her mouth, eyes wide like she couldn't believe what she'd just said. 

"I didn't‒" she whispered behind her hands. "I don't‒" 

A heavy click cut her off, making them jump. The largest recorder had just turned itself on. The assistants and the officers stared at it as the spokes began to spin and filled the air with loud static, despite there being no tape to play. The noise increased quickly, rising into a painful squeal before a voice broke through.

"Gertrude."

Martin was so surprised he nearly missed Gertude's reply. That wasn't the Archivist's voice. It was the one from before. "Jonah Magnus's". Very clearly speaking to Gertrude Robinson. "Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?"

"I'd rather hoped you’d still be hampered with all the Dark’s business," Gertrude answered back. Martin's stomach clenched. She didn't sound at all surprised to be speaking with him. "It’s their ‘Grand Eclipse’ at the moment, isn’t it?"

"But I think we’ve both come to the same conclusion about that. That’s why you’re here."

"Yes. Shame, really. I used to be able to torch a building in half the time." Sasha's eyes were even wider over her hands still pressed to her mouth. Martin felt like his face was matching her expression. She _had_ tried to burn the Archives. "Age catches us all," Gertrude continued. "Well, almost all of us‒"

Whatever else she was going to say was cut off by the loudest squeal of static yet, obscuring the words and making Martin flinch. The others looked equally pained, though Basira and Daisy never lost their intense looks. The squealing didn't stop, it went on for several moments, though Martin could hear Gertrude and Jonah speaking underneath it. Something about a body, and burning.

"-has a way of surviving," Gertrude’s voice returned through the interference. "You of all people should know that."

"Quite," Jonah's voice agreed. "It was a good plan, actually. If only you hadn’t left the Archivist so blinded and weak, he could have prevented me from seeing into his domain." His voice dripped with amused sarcasm. "Gertrude’s grand retirement."

"It still might. Just needs a little spark, and ‒" The click of a gun cut her off. "I see. So you’re finally getting your hands dirty? I must really have caught you off guard."

"I suppose we both got a little complacent. Forty years is a long time." Jonah sounded almost amused by that. "End of an era."

Gertrude sighed impatiently. "I’m not really in the mood for nostalgia. You might have noticed I’m rather busy, so either shoot me or‒"

She was silenced by a gunshot, so abrupt and loud everyone jumped and both Martin and Sasha shrieked. Gertrude gasped. "Well… there it is. Thought it would hurt more."

Her voice trailed off weakly, before a second gunshot rang out, then a third. For a long moment, there was only cold silence. "Pity," Jonah Magnus finally said, without any at all in his voice. Then abruptly he laughed, chilling and harsh. "And not even a _word_ of warning from you." He sounded mirthlessly delighted. "You really didn't care for her, did you, _Archivist_?"

The static died as the tape recorder stopped with a 'click', leaving them in silence. "Right," Daisy broke the silence. "What was that?"

"He didn't warn her," Tim said numbly. "He just let her die."

"Who was that?" Sasha asked faintly, finally pulling her hands from her mouth. "That other person on the recording. I've never heard him before‒"

"Jonah Magnus," Martin supplied. "Jonah Magnus killed Gertrude." For all the cold shock in his veins from that voice, he couldn't bring himself to be surprised. He was quite willing to bet that Gertrude wasn't the first Archivist he had killed.

"How the hell do you know that?" Martin jerked his gaze up from the recorder, and realized that every other eye in the room was on him. Oh Christ. 

"It‒ he…I've heard him before, on a recording," he admitted. "I think he must have come down here? He gave a statement to the Archivist‒ not his statement, someone else's‒ and that's what he called him."

"Jonah Magnus," Basira repeated. "As in the founder of the Magnus Institute? As in someone who's been dead for nearly two hundred years?"

"We already have one ghost down here, who not add another one?" Tim asked sarcastically. 

"One that you can conveniently blame for murder." Daisy hadn't so much as twitched through the entire statement or any of the revelations that followed. Her eyes were focused back on Sasha, not blinking, and completely still.

"Come on, all that you two have seen and you don't think a ghost can do a murder?" Tim rolled his eyes. "Pretty sure the Archivist would murder Jurgen Leitner in a heartbeat if he had one."

"He has a point." At Basira's words, Daisy finally turned to give her a look. She shrugged. "It's the Magnus Institute. Of course it wouldn't be a normal murder."

"And we're just supposed to believe them because one ghost blamed another?" 

"You just heard it," Martin snapped at her. He was surprised his voice was so strong, and when Daisy barely gave him a glance he continued. "The Archivist is here, he's always here, of course he saw when she was murdered. And he needed us to know, that's why he spoke up, because he was worried about Sasha. He's never done something like this before."

"That'll explain why he's taken up smoking." Tim's dry comment alerted Martin to the scent of scorched plastic. To his horror, the largest recorder was smoking slightly, and he nearly burnt his hand when he reached out to touch it. Of course, there was no tape. The encounter had come directly from the Archivist, and it had cost him to relay it to them. Because he was looking out for them.

"Then how do you explain how she knew?" Daisy asked with an accusing nod towards Sasha.

"The Archivist," the three assistants said as one. "Not the first time he's pulled this stunt," Tim continued. "Remember the whole Michael thing?" 

"That‒" Martin cut himself off. Tim was right, he was completely right. He thought about how Sasha had known about his recorder always being with him, how she'd felt like she'd known Michael during her first encounter. Things that she couldn't have knowledge of herself, but the Archivist did. "God, you're right."

Sasha didn't look happy about this revelation, but her voice was steady when she addressed the officers. "I didn't kill Gertrude," she said firmly. "You heard it yourselves." Basira looked like she wanted to say something about that, but Sasha plowed on. "If you're still so desperate to find out how she died, then start by looking into how a ghost was able to shoot her, or how it was faked. Do some actual 'detectiving' before you start accusing." That was directed at Daisy, who was glaring even harder, if that was even possible. But Sasha's was just as fierce. 

"She's right," Basira agreed, almost reluctantly. 

"Basira…"

"Daisy, she's right." Basira turned to her partner, putting a hand on her arm. "The evidence doesn't fit, and we've heard enough from that 'ghost' that…well, that's what we should be after."

"Could be faked," Daisy ground out.

"I think we both know it wasn't." Basira cast a look over at the recorder. "We'll be back, with more questions," she told the assistants. "Better get your stories straight by then."

Tim snorted. "I wish we could," he mumbled under his breath. Daisy must have heard him, because she stayed rooted in place, even as Basira turned to leave.

"Daisy." Basira's order was obvious. With one last lingering glare, the detective turned and left after her partner. And Martin felt like he could breathe again. 

The relief didn't last long. Sasha nearly crumpled with a sob, and would have if Tim hadn't caught her. He wrapped his arms around her firmly, barely making room for Martin to squeeze himself in. He did, regardless, and met Tim's eye over her head.

"This is too much," Tim said, deadly seriously. "We need answers."

“I didn’t know,” Sasha hiccupped, breathing far too hard and shaking in their embrace. Martin gently shushed her, rubbing her arm. “I don’t know how I know I don’t know‒”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Tim’s mood switched in a second, speaking softly as he rocked her back and forth. Despite Martin’s urge to comfort her as well, he felt like he should step away, give the two of them some space. “We’ll figure it out.” He met Martin’s eyes again, back to serious. “We're going to get some real answers."

"Right," Martin agreed. As if he'd say anything else. He understood it now, Tim's urgent need to keep them safe against the unknown threats, Sasha's desire to uncover the mystery that was now affecting her in ways she couldn't begin to guess at. And he knew the Archivist wanted nothing more than to give them the answers they wanted.

"No more messing around," Tim continued, sending a look towards the recorder on the desk. "No more playing around with tapes hoping for a hint. No more making guesses we don't know are right or wrong. No more secrets. The Archivist knows things. It's time for him to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, all my love and thanks to my beta Kat, who did a hell of a job despite not knowing anything about TMA aside from the tidbits I have given her like a pet cat leaving presents for an irresponsible owner.


	4. 2.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many words in this chapter. So many things said. I hope they're enjoyable
> 
> Chapter Specific Warnings: More Timmy anger (I genuinely feel bad. I really do), some uncomfortable discussions, Elias being That Bastard.

Martin stared at the canteen desk, a frown on his face. Everything seemed to be in order, mugs neatly stacked next to the electric kettle, boxes of tea in each assistant's preferred brands next to a new carton of cocoa mix. But the boxes were all emptier than they should be, and the tin of loose leaves, the one he rarely used except for visitors or if someone wanted something special, was nearly half-empty. And as the designated tea-maker, he knew he hadn't used any lately. It should be nearly full.

In light of everything that was going on, all that was happening around them, the state of his tea supply should really be lower on his list of concerns. But it was expensive, given the amount of tea they all went through, and it wasn't like he was compensated by the Institute for it. So it mattered to him.

He bit his lip. He really shouldn't ask Tim or Sasha, they were both clearly still shaken up by the visit from the police officers the previous day. Sasha had seemed truly uncomfortable at being in the Archives for the first time, and Tim…well, he was back to being grumpy and suspicious about the recorders. Martin couldn't blame either of them.

It wasn't worth bringing it up to them; it really only mattered to him. Martin tried to find something else to occupy himself with ‒ he had the feeling that Tim was back to regarding the statements with hostility and wouldn't appreciate coming back to the Archives to find Martin recording. Sasha was nowhere to be found either, so he couldn't check up and fuss over her as needed.

The largest recorder was still sitting on his desk from where they'd left it yesterday. Martin timidly rested his hand on it before checking it over. He couldn't determine the source of the smoke that had come from it. Nothing seemed burnt, although there was a film of carbon coating the inside that clung to his fingers. It had obviously been an effort for the Archivist, relating something that had perhaps never been recorded in the first place, but he was grateful to him. It kept Sasha out of jail after all. And maybe it would prove to Tim, finally, that the Archivist was on their side. 

Resisting the urge to wipe his carbon-coated fingers off on his trousers, Martin wiped them off with a tissue before tackling the inside of the recorder. He quickly ended up using what was left of the box as the carbon proved difficult to remove. Rather than take from Sasha and Tim's desks, he headed off to the storage room with spare supplies. Not paying any attention, he opened the door, and nearly walked straight into Tim and Sasha.

"Oh god! Sorry!" It was obvious he had interrupted then in the middle of something ‒ people generally didn't hang out together in darkened storage rooms for no reason. He'd completely forgotten that it was also the room with the trapdoor to the tunnels. Martin quickly shut the door and hurried back to the main office, face aflame. "Why didn't you warn me?" he hissed at his recorder as he slid back into his seat. "Tim's gonna be furious!"

He didn't have to wait long to see the truth of his words. Martin looked up guiltily when Tim came storming into the room, face barely red around the edges. "Alright Blackwood," Tim said as he strode up to his desk, leaning over it and bracing his hands so he could loom properly. "Time for you to talk."

"Is that what you two were doing?" Martin blurted, and felt bad when Sasha, who'd just trailed in, blushed even harder. Tim, even with the serious look in his eyes, managed to crack a grin.

"Might not be a bad idea," he said, voice dipping into a lower, seductive register. "Bet if I made out with you, that'd get a rise out of the Archivist. Think he'd have some words to say about that."

"Tim," Sasha warned, just as the large recorder clicked itself on with an obvious burst of static. Tim spared it a glance.

"I knew it," he muttered under his breath, before his eyes snapped back to Martin. "Start talking. I know you're hiding _something_ and I want to know‒"

"The Archivist talks more if you read him two statements," Martin quickly cut in. "Back to back. Or, just in a day, I'm not sure exactly. But…yeah."

Tim's eyebrows shot straight up. Sasha stared at him. "You mean, more than just the statements and his observations, right?" she asked. "Like a proper conversation?"

"Something like that, yeah," Martin agreed. "It wasn't for very long, but it wasn't related to the statement. He was able to answer a few questions, and…it wasn't much, but it's something." 

"What did you talk about?" 

"He…suggested you stop exploring the tunnels," Martin admitted sheepishly. "And focus on the Fears classification. He doesn't like the Fourteen either, thinks you can come up with better."

Sasha looked like a lightbulb had gone off over her head. "That's why you brought it up," she realized. "That was from him?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Mostly." Martin swallowed and turned his attention back to Tim, who was still watching him. "And he's…he's worried about you."

"No." Tim snapped. "Don't give me that. You're telling me that nice little heart-to-heart we had‒"

"I'm worried about you too!" Martin quickly cut him off. "Of course I am! We all are! And he is too, and maybe that's what pushed me to finally say something, but‒" 

"But you're taking instructions from a disembodied voice of unknown origin and questionable intentions." Tim's voice was heavy with accusation and disapproval. "Did _none of that_ set off a single red flag? Or are you still so caught up with your belief that you can 'trust him'? Based on _what_ , exactly?"

Martin dropped his gaze to his lap, focusing very intently on his own breathing. He didn't want to have this argument with Tim, not when he knew Tim would never understand. He hadn't heard what the Archivist had said to him. And Martin wasn't about to tell him.

"What else did the Archivist say?" Martin wasn't sure if Sasha was trying to defuse the situation, or if her curiosity was pushing her forward, as usual. But of course, that was the one question he didn't want to answer. "And don't say that was it," she cut him off as he opened his mouth to lie. "After all you've done for him, you can't tell me he only talked about us. What did he say to _you_?"

Martin knew the blush creeping up his neck gave him away, but he still tried to play it off. "We just…talked. I asked how he was doing, which, I know, that's dumb, I mean, why would I ask a ghost how they're doing‒"

Sasha cut off his ramblings with swift brutality. "Did he flirt with you?"

"What? No!" Martin shot back, heat creeping into his face.

"Did you flirt with him?"

"Of course not!" The high-pitched tone of his voice did nothing to convince them. Tim was looking thunderous. "There was no flirting involved, by anyone. We just…talked."

There was a long moment of very disbelieving silence. "I cannot believe‒" Tim started, and shook his head. "We seriously need to get you laid." The humor in his voice was sharp enough to cut. "You know we've been here too long when Martin's fallen for the bloody ghost."

"Tim," Sasha warned, but he plowed on.

"That's what it is, isn't it? You get him all to yourself, you're the only one he talks to, makes you feel special, so of course you're going to fall for him. Never mind that he's a spooky all-knowing monster, never mind that he's _dead_." Every word landed like a slap. Martin couldn't even look at him, slumping in his seat as the onslaught continued. "How's that gonna work out for the two of you, huh? Where's that happy ending? Or is that how you like it, zero expectations, don't have to worry about him leaving you one day. Cause he _can't_. And you don't even have to waste money on him, that must be nice‒"

"Tim, stop!" Sasha snapped at him, moving forward to get between the two of them. Tim stepped back, but the sneer never faltered. 

"Come on, Sash, you're the one with the weird freaky knowing powers. You know what a phenomenally stupid idea this is. I mean, this is a new low for you, Martin. You can do so much better, but instead you're after someone who's got literally two other options. Not to mention he's probably using you and your stupid _trust_ in him. You're putting yourself at risk for someone who can never return the favor‒"

"Stop it!"

At any other time, Martin would be amazed at the force of Sasha's words, the way they made Tim stumble back. Was there a hint of static in her voice, or was it in his own head? He didn't know, could only focus on the curdling hurt in his own chest. He knew Tim didn't mean it, was just lashing out at another problem. But that didn't make it hurt less.

Martin blinked hard at him, jaw aching with the strain of holding back tears. "Right, we're going to have it out?" he snapped, feeling the suffocating anger finally begin to break. "Let's talk about who's been stealing my tea! Right? I know you know better than that, I've told you a thousand times‒" 

" _I haven't been stealing your bloody tea!_ " Tim hissed angrily. "This is serious, Martin!"

"I _am_ serious!" Martin snapped back, jerking to a stand behind his desk. "You know I don't have a lot of money for luxuries, and that tea is one of the few things I get to have to myself, since _apparently_ I'm not even allowed to have secrets. And _someone_ has been taking it! I've had to buy more _twice_ these past few weeks. Who could it possibly be?"

"Maybe it's creepy Michael," Tim sarcastically. "Seems like stealing's kind of their thing."

"Of course it wasn't Michael," Martin shot him down. "He doesn't drink tea. It has to be one of you!"

"What do you mean, Michael doesn't drink tea?" Sasha cut in. "Why wouldn't he drink tea?" 

"Because tannins give him headaches," Martin said impatiently. "That's not important, I know it wasn't him."

" _How_?!" Tim half-shrieked. "How do you know they don't drink tea?"

Martin stopped, off-balance, mouth still hanging open. He hadn't…he didn't…how‒?

"Oh my god," Sasha whispered. "It’s happening to you too."

It was. As soon as she said it, Martin knew she was right. Everything was clicking into place, all the little things he had known but hadn't noticed that he _shouldn't_ properly know. There were so many, how could he not have realized? He sat back in his chair weakly, trying to make sense of what he was feeling. It felt so wrong, but in the way that made him feel like he was only supposed to feel shocked, was supposed to be upset when he really…wasn't. Because it had happened without him even noticing, and by now it felt…it felt like a part of him.

That really should have horrified him more. Sasha had nearly fainted after all. But he felt…that wasn't how he felt.

"That's fantastic," Tim said bitterly. "Now there's two of you." He caught a glimpse of the look Martin shared with Sasha, and his face paled. "No no, don't you two give each other a significant look. I'm not picking up on anything from this place."

"But you are," Sasha said softly. "All the time. You've said yourself, you don't know why you're always feeling so on edge and like we're in danger. Who's to say that isn't part of it too?"

"No!" Tim snapped, turning away from them. "No, no, NO!" He slammed his fists down on his desk, making Martin jump. " _I don't want this!_ " he yelled at it, and Martin realized his recorder was sitting there. "I didn't ask for this!" he shouted as he snatched it up and threw it to the floor. It broke with a plasticity crack, pieces flying off to bounce into corners. Tim collapsed against the edge of his desk, anger falling from his face, replaced with a look so heartbreaking Martin forgot his momentary anger at him. "Why is this happening?" he asked softly.

It was quiet, nothing but the sounds of static coming from the unbroken recorders throughout the room. He'd been listening the whole time. The Archivist had heard the whole thing. He didn't want them fighting amongst themselves. Martin knew he wanted to speak up himself, say anything to calm the fury and give them some assurance, but he couldn't. Because there wasn't any to give.

Martin stiffened as it occurred to him that there was no way he could know that. Was that it, how it felt to just _know_ something? And there was no questioning it, the knowledge as certain in his mind as anything else he knew. It was just…there. Sitting in his mind, feeling oddly right. Fitting.

Sasha took a deep breath, breaking the silence. "I think we all need a break," she said quietly. "Get out of here for a bit, clear our heads. You're both upset, and you’re right to be. But we can’t be yelling at each other like this." Her gaze shifted between the two of them. "Take five, both of you. Get out, go for a walk, get some fresh air. Go." Tim looked like he wanted to protest, but Sasha fixed him with her hardest stare. "Now, Stoker." With a final glare, Tim turned and stomped out. "Martin?" she directed at him, but he shook his head.

"I don't want to leave here right now."

Sasha sighed. "Yeah, I get that." She took a seat at the edge of her desk, staring at her boots. "That's how I felt this morning, about coming back here. Like…I should logically want to get as far away from all this as I can. But there's still so much mystery, so many questions and…sure, maybe asking those questions is pleasing to some all-knowing eyeball floating in another dimension or whatever those things are." She gestured vaguely in the air. "But that's how I've always been! That hasn't changed, that's always been a part of me. The only difference is now I'm getting the answers dropped straight into my head." She made a face. "Which is…weird, and I know it's gonna bite me in the backside, probably very soon. But‒" she grinned mischievously. "Bet we'd make a killing at pub quizzes."

Martin forced a laugh. "Pretty sure that's cheating."

"Come on." She winked at him. "Who'd believe it?"

"He's right, you know," Martin sighed. He hated to admit it, but he had to. "Everything about me and…the Archivist. I…" He _really_ wished the recorders weren't on. He really didn't want to say it outloud. 

"Tim's upset. He's lashing out," Sasha cut him off. "He shouldn't have said any of that. I'm not making excuses for him‒ in fact, if he comes in here and doesn't immediately apologize I'll give him something to make a statement about. Especially after what he said last time." Her gaze fell to her desk, where her own recorder was sitting, and she sighed. "I really hope it really is some supernatural feedback that's making him act like this. That he's not‒ I mean, I _know_ he's not like this." Her voice sounded desperate, like she wanted to believe her own words.

"He's not," Martin agreed. "He's just…upset." The excuse was heavy and familiar on his tongue, and he swallowed it down. He couldn't think about that.

Absurdly, he wanted a cup of tea, but after his outburst that felt too…selfish. Sasha snuck him a chocolate from her desk as she moved towards the stairs, no doubt following her own advice to get some air. Martin stayed where he was, listening to the quiet hiss from the recorders and trying not to feel like everything was falling apart around him.

Sasha was back and seated at her desk before Tim returned. Martin flinched when he heard his steps descending down to the Archives again. Sasha got to her feet, already moving to intercept Tim as he entered. Martin stayed where he was, not looking up as Sasha whispered heatedly at him, until Tim slowly approached his desk. Even then, he was expecting the worst, until a box of tea was placed in front of him. Very expensive tea.

"I'm sorry, Martin." Tim heaved a ragged sigh, looking away when Martin finally looked up at him. "God, this is all I do now, yell, and then apologize, and then yell some more. I'm awful at this."

"At least you apologized," Martin replied. His voice still sounded hoarse. He tried to distract himself with the tea, until Tim pulled his attention back.

"I mean it, I really do. This‒this whole situation is‒ I shouldn't have said all that. I know that. I fucked up and it’s my fault. You don't deserve to be yelled at, this isn't your fault." He blew an annoyed breath out of his nose. "It's his. The Archivist's."

"No, it's not-" Martin started, but Tim shook his head at him.

"Don't. Defend him." His voice was hard. "You say he can talk more now? Then I want to hear it from him. I want _him_ to explain everything. All of it." He looked over to catch Sasha's eye. "How about it Miss James? I know you have a million questions for the guy, and now Martin's given us a good idea how to get him to talk. Care to give it a try?"

Sasha blew out her breath, making quick eye contact with Martin before meeting Tim's. "I think it is time," she agreed. "I'm all for finding answers on our own, but this…it's too much, and he knows more than what he's telling us after statements. If he's limited by that, then we have to expand his opening for him." Her lips quirked in a timid grin. "Without having the police threatening us."

Tim nodded, before awkwardly glancing towards Martin. "It's your call, mate," he said carefully. "You're the one who figured out how to summon him. You know what to do."

Martin shook his head. "I didn't figure anything out," he deflected. "I just stumbled onto it by accident. I'm not‒"

"Martin," Tim cut him off. "You're amazing and I don't want to hear otherwise. The Archivist is more _here_ because of you, for better or worse. There's no way he could have pulled that stunt against the officers if you hadn't been giving him all the attention you have. You're too good to someone who doesn't wholly deserve it, and I'm so lucky to have you in my life." As Martin tried to quell the squirming feeling in his stomach that he always felt when someone undeservedly praised him, Tim shot a quick glance over at Sasha. "Both of you. And I'm so scared of losing both of you that I can't stand it." His gaze came to rest on the recorder sitting next to Martin. "If you're right about the Archivist‒ about him protecting us, I want to hear it from him. I want to believe him." 

His voice dropped as he stared into space. "God, is that‒ no." He cut himself off. Martin already recognized the moment of uncertainty, of not knowing where a feeling was coming from. "I'm not feeling overprotective because of him. I'm feeling overprotective because of this whole mess." Even as he declared it, his voice was unsure. 

"We'll ask him," Sasha decided. "I also want to know more about these…weird Eye-knowing powers. Why we have them." She sighed and flipped open a notebook on her desk, grabbing a pen and beginning to write. "Hope he's ready for this," she grumbled to herself. "We're really paranormal researchers now, aren't we?" she asked with a grin. "Trying to summon a ghost for a chat."

"Gertrude wouldn't approve," Tim snorted. He still lingered uncertainly by Martin's desk. Martin knew, _Knew_ he really was trying to make amends, that he did really feel terrible about what he'd said. But he had said it, and the hurt wouldn't go away from a box of tea. He knew he should be nice, forgive him easily, but…but…

"Gertrude had her chance to question him, and she ignored him instead," Martin said. "Didn't end well for her." He'd worry about it later, he decided. After their little chat with the Archivist. After they had some real answers, and could stop questioning everything. Then maybe they could all relax a bit.

~*~

Despite Tim's readiness, they didn't immediately set about trying to summon the Archivist. Sasha spent the next several days in the Library after interrogating Martin about the best places to look up information about ghosts. Martin spent his time back in the stacks, trying to find suitable statements for them to read and very definitely not avoiding Tim.

Tim, for his part, did seem to be giving him his space. He had to know Martin was recording statements every single day, but didn't make any move to stop him. Martin was sure that would change after their summoning attempt if it did turn out that the Archivist was evil or something, but for now he could record in peace.

Martin knew, with a confidence that he was fairly certain didn't come from the Eye, that he was right about the Archivist. That he was their protector, not a monster. He still talked to his recorder throughout the day, mindless chatter about the statements or the world outside the Institute. The Archivist seemed to be holding off on any other extraordinary feats, only relaying the statements and his follow-up, but Martin expected that. He hoped he was saving up his strength to speak to them all at once.

He also hoped that…well, that Tim and Sasha wouldn't dominate the questioning, that he'd get another chance to just talk to the Archivist. He hadn't brought up anything about his new knowing intuition thing during his mindless ramblings to the Archivist, and definitely hadn't mentioned what Tim had said about them. It was still too tender to think about, hearing everything he hadn't dared to consider thrown at him with such venom.

He didn't want to even think about if he was wrong about the Archivist. He knew he wasn't, but…

But he couldn't be sure until he heard it from the Archivist himself.

Nearly a week after the police incident, Sasha pulled him out of the stacks with an offer of lunch. "I think we're nearly ready," she explained, unaware of the way Martin's heart rate jumped. "We all need to sit down and plan our questions. _Calmly_ , and peacefully," she directed at Tim, who held his hands up in surrender. "I don't like playing mom-friend to you two. A girl's gotta have her own chance to yell at people too, you know?"

"I would genuinely love to see you go off on the Archivist," Tim said with a grin. Martin grinned as well, not because he thought the Archivist deserved to get yelled at. But he certainly needed to be on the end of one of her questioning rants, which he knew she'd been building since they learned he might talk. Tim gave him an awkward glance, smile fading sheepishly, which Martin mirrored. He was willing to have a nice lunch with a coworker if Tim was willing to be nice as well.

Of course, that opportunity faded when they reached the top of the stairs and saw who was standing there.

"Melanie?"

Melanie turned, and Martin suddenly realized who she was talking to.

"Ah, there's our assistants," Elias said with a smile that said a little too much. "I'll let you go now, but, please, think about what I've said."

"Yeah, sure, will do," Melanie smiled at him as she took his card, before swiftly walking over to them. "I've got some info for you,” she said in a rush. Her gaze flashed from Martin, over to Tim and Sasha, and she frowned. "Is everything alright?"

"Just perfect," Tim said with exaggerated joviality. Martin could still feel Elias's eyes on them as they turned and headed back down the stairs. "What do you have?"

"Another statement." Melanie frowned when Tim stopped dead in the doorway and she nearly walked into him. "And, uh, Sasha messaged me, said the ghost situation is…escalating." She moved past Tim and into the Archives, looking around before shuddering. "Yeah, this…this feels more intense than the last time I was here."

"You messaged her?" Tim asked incredulously. Sasha swatted him with her notebook. 

"She's a ghost expert, of course I did. But what was Elias talking to you about? He never usually talks to statement-givers."

"We talked about Ghost Hunt UK, and how we're…kinda on permanent hiatus." Melanie shrugged. "It's not even big news yet, so I don't know how he knows‒"

"How does he even know about your show?" At Melanie's dirty look, Martin scrambled to explain. "I mean, I didn't think he knew what YouTube was, much less a local paranormal group’s show."

"Yeah, well, he did. And he knew about how everyone had more or less quit, and he…kinda offered me a job here." 

Everything was quiet. "Like, here as in, in the Archives?" Sasha finally asked.

"Yeah. Said he thought there'd be a position opening soon." Melanie finally seemed to realize what she was saying. "Any of you getting a promotion soon?" Her voice was desperately joking. "Extra-long holiday? Parental leave?"

"Oh god," Martin murmured. His hand mindlessly found its way to his recorder, rubbing it through his shirt fabric. He almost wished it would spit out some knowledge, some half-comforting words. But coming from the Archivist…

"He knows," Tim said darkly. "He knows we're in danger down here, he thinks one of us is gonna bite it. We're already down one Archivist," he nodded towards the spare recorder. "Two if you count Gertrude."

"And I've looked into all the previous assistants who worked down here." Sasha was staring at her desk, eyes unfocused. "They didn't…none of them quit, in a traditional sense."

“You’re joking, right?” Melanie was looking back and forth between them. “Like, you don’t really think you’re in danger down here, right?”

"We've got an Archivist who won't tell us anything," Tim grumbled. "Monsters and ghosts and who knows what else. Yeah, I'd say we're in danger."

Melanie looked like she was about to ask if they were joking again, but after taking a look towards Sasha and Martin, she wisely seemed to reconsider. "You haven't got much more out of your ghost?"

"Yeah, but nothing helpful." Sasha answered. "Mostly things related to statements, but nothing about our current situation."

"That's what really bugs me," Tim snapped. "Why the vagueness and spooky mystery? He's got no problem talking over statements, why can't he just come out and tell us what's going on?"

"Welcome to my brain for the past year," Sasha grumbled. 

"I, uh, I actually might know why." Melanie shrugged when they all turned her way. "I don't think you all realize how rare an EVP really is. Usually you get a whisper on a recording, or some blips on a radio. Not an entire word-for-word statement and follow-up." She looked down at the desk she was standing by, and Martin realized there was a new mini-recorder sitting there, merrily hissing as it recorded everything. He hadn't even noticed. "I think it's got something to do with these tape recorders."

"We bought a brand new one when this started." Sasha nodded at the one perched on a nearby filing cabinet. "The original kinda lives in the spare office, but they've been multiplying since we've started reading statements to him."

"Yeah, it's not a specific recorder." Melanie sighed, and her voice slipped into something Martin recognized as her "YouTube Show Host" tone. "Ghosts are energy, basically, and interact with electricity in weird ways. That's why you get a lot of lights flickering or video static with ghost encounters."

"I thought that was just so you guys could hide how fake it was." Tim smiled harshly under the weight of Melanie's glare.

"I've probably seen more real ghosts than you have 'real' statements down here." Martin and Sasha shared a look, but neither mentioned the hundreds of years of statements in document storage. "Look, it's pretty obvious the Archivist has some connection to the recorders, since he can manipulate them so well. So, if we do a modified EVP session, we might be able to generate enough energy to get him here. To answer some questions." She shrugged. "It won't be a traditional seance, but who's complaining‒" 

"I might." Tim straightened, the overprotective set of his shoulders making a reappearance. "Isn't that a bit…much?"

Melanie gave him a look from under her fringe. "Relax, dude, you're not gonna get possessed."

"I'm not the one I'm worried about." Martin gave him an offended look when Tim looked pointedly at him. "What if we get something else down here? What if we can't get him to go away after?"

"Some of us might not have an issue with that," Sasha said teasingly. "And we might end up with Jonah Magnus's ghost. Maybe we can get some answers out of him." Melanie looked like she was bursting with questions, but Sasha continued. "It's not all that different than what we were planning to do. Martin says he talks more after multiple statements. If we all read one‒" 

"That makes sense," Melanie said eagerly. "That specific focused energy he thrives on, multiplied. And I have another statement," she reminded them quickly. "Four should give him plenty of energy, right?"

Martin nodded when they all looked towards him in confirmation. He could feel shivers of anticipation running down his spine, thrilled with the idea of what they were going to do and…and to speak to the Archivist again. Properly. For some real answers, a real chance to find out what was going on. And if there was anything they could do to help him.

"Then we're doing this," Tim decided. "Tonight." He glared towards the spare recorder. "Hope you're ready to talk, Archivist."

In the determined silence that followed, Melanie turned to glance at Martin. "So you're a ghost-fucker, then?"

~*~

"I don't know how you could stand it here alone for months," Sasha said with a shudder that was only slightly theatrical. "It's so creepy with the lights off."

Martin shrugged as he turned on another tealight. "I got used to it," he answered as he handed it up to her to place on the top shelf. Melanie had insisted they should have candlelight for the ambience, but the assistants had vehemently denied any open flame, so they'd settled for many small battery-powered ones.

"Still. We should have all slept over sometimes. Kept you company." Sasha braced herself on his shoulder as she lowered herself off the chair she'd been standing on. "But I bet you liked the alone time with the Archivist," she said with a wink. Martin winced.

"Please don't," he asked gently. He still felt tender from Tim's onslaught, and generally nervous about what the Archivist might say when they contacted him. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle it.

"Sorry." Sasha gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Just…I think we're all nervous." She looked towards the dark empty office. Her voice dropped. "I don't think we're the only ones."

Martin nodded. He knew exactly what she was talking about. The air in the Archives was laced with anticipation, like a primary classroom right before a field trip. It had been building all afternoon, and he couldn't definitely say it was only coming from them.

It was now very late in the night. They'd waited until there'd be no one else in the building to disturb them, and Sasha had spent the time getting Melanie up to date and advising her _not_ to take Elias's job offer. They'd cleared a space in the main office, desks pushed back to give them room to sit in a circle on the floor. Melanie had brought her own lighting rig, and the shadows outside of it were deep, even with the battery-powered tea lights. The largest recorder, the one that Martin was starting to think of as the Archivist's, was waiting in the center. They also had their own personal ones, and Melanie had one of her own. Martin wasn't sure if she'd brought it herself or if it had come from the Archivist. Another thing to ask.

"Everybody ready?" Melanie asked brightly. She was obviously in her element. She dropped to a sitting position, and when they mirrored her she held out her hands, taking Sasha's and Martin's. She waited until Tim and Sasha took up each other's hands, and Tim took Martin's, before grinning in excitement. "And start." She clapped her hands together before taking their's again. "Right. Statement of Melanie King, regarding further research into…war ghosts."

When she was done, they waited until her recorder clicked off on its own, before Tim turned his on and began reading the statement of Darren Harlow. After he finished, Sasha repeated the process and read Ronald Sinclair's statement. When it was his turn, Martin read the Archivist the statement given by Rosa Meyer, feeling a certain type of tension crawl up his back as he did so. He didn't know if it was from the statement itself, or from what they were doing. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

When he stopped, there was silence as the tape finished its recording. Martin kept his eyes on the recorder in the center of the circle, waiting for some kind of reaction. The silence stretched on, almost becoming concerning. Martin could feel Tim's fingers twitching in his hand, see Sasha's impatient shifting. Was it too long? Had something gone wrong?

Martin was just about to speak up when his recorder abruptly clicked, like a different button had been pushed. At the same time, the other's recorders turned back on as well, before the largest one on the center started itself with a heavy click. The static that filled the air sounded deeper, more intense. The feeling of being watched, always there at the edge of awareness, settled heavy around them. And for the first time, Martin was acutely aware of the presence of _someone else_ in the Archives with them.

"Think that means he's ready to talk," Melanie murmured, before straightening up. "Hello! My name is Melanie King, and I'm here to speak to the Archivist." She paused, but there was only an expectant silence. "I'm here with your assistants, Tim Stoker, Sasha James and Martin Blackwood. If you're with us, can you say our names back?"

Martin expected more static, the sound of effort in the Archivist's voice, the way it had sounded while speaking before. He wasn't expecting the Archivist's voice, coming from all the recorders at once, to sound as clear and steady as if he were sitting in the circle with them. 

"Melanie King. Tim Stoker. Sasha James. Martin Blackwood."

There was a moment of stunned silence around the circle. Martin could see on the other's faces that this was not the reaction they were expecting. Tim seemed flat out stunned, and Sasha's face was a mixture of delight and shock. Martin expected his was the same, to say nothing of the deep happiness that bloomed within him from hearing that voice so plainly.

To her credit, Melanie only blinked in surprise before continuing. "Good. And you're the Archivist?"

"Yes." Was Martin imagining it, or was there some wry amusement in the Archivist's tone? As if he was asking who else it could be.

"Great, awesome. Let's round out the introductions then. What's your name?"

Martin waited breathlessly, heart pounding in his ears. But there was only static, as even and steady as it had ever come from the recorder. No answer.

"Okay, that's fine." It wasn't fine, not in the slightest, but Melanie pushed ahead. "We have some questions for you, if you can answer them." She glanced around the circle, but Martin was still frozen in surprise. It wasn't that he didn't expect it to work, he just hadn't expected it to work so…well. Sasha also looked stunned, her notebook of questions ignored on her lap. Tim looked between them, before he shrugged. 

"Alright, I'll start." Tim squared his shoulders and addressed the recorder. "What's going on?"

There was a beat of unimpressed silence. "There's a lot going on, Tim," the Archivist finally answered. "You'll have to be more specific."

Martin bit his lip to keep from laughing. Tim also looked like he was fighting a smile, but he quickly pushed it down. "Okay, fine. What the hell are you?"

"I'm the Archivist."

"And what the hell does that mean?"

"It means I protect the Archives and those within it." The answer came swift and sharp. "That may not be what the Eye intended of me, but that's what I'm doing."

Martin felt a surge of warmth, hearing the Archivist confirm what he'd always thought. "Is that why you're here?" he asked, voice carefully neutral. "Your unfinished business?"

" _Yes_." There was something more in the Archivist's voice, but before Martin could figure it out he continued. "I'm tied to the Archives but that's not…that's not just it, I _can't_ just sit by and watch terrible things happen to my Assistants. I've tried so hard to educate you and keep you aware but I know I haven't…I'm _limited_ in how I can communicate." It all came out in a rush, as if he was worried he'd be interrupted. "It's frustrating and it's terrifying, the idea of not being able to warn any of you in time. The statements help, I can speak more freely now, more than I ever have. Without them I can't see. I…I'm nearly blind. Worse than that, I can't…I can't keep myself _here_ , in the Archives. I can't keep watch over you." His voice dropped, growing softer again. "I can't thank you enough for reading them to me, Martin."

"So that's what's up with the statements?" Tim asked harshly, thankfully not noticing the deep flush spreading across Martin's cheeks. "That's why you keep having Martin read them?" Martin noticed Sasha was squeezing his hand, a silent communication, perhaps wanting him to tone it down. But there was little chance of that. 

"Unfortunately it's not just for my sake." There was a deep and heavy burst of static, which Martin recognized as a sigh. "The Eye wants the fear as well. That is the true purpose of the Archivist, I believe. To experience the fear through the statements‒" Martin stiffened in his seat, and as if he noticed, the Archivist's words seemed directed at him. "To feel it over and over again and give it directly to the Eye. That is why the Archives exist, have _always_ existed in one form or another, for the Eye to feed on the fear of others." His voice turned sharp. "Which, if it wasn't obvious enough, was _not_ made clear to me in any way when I took this job, much as you were all kept in the dark yourselves. A deliberate choice Gertrude made, and which… _the Head of the Institute_ is upholding."

"Elias does know," Sasha said grimly, more a statement than a question. "He probably even knows what happened to Gertrude, that's why he set me up to get jailed. But why did Jonah Magnus kill Gertrude? What did she know, without you knowing? And how is Jonah still around?" she asked in a rush. "Is he a ghost, like you? But he's solid, he _shot_ her, he‒"

"Gertrude knew… _something_ , I don't know." The strain in the Archivist's voice was obvious. "He‒ Jonah wouldn't let me hear, I was too weak then to even try to fight him. I couldn't keep him out of the Archives, I could barely turn the recorder on. I don't know what they discussed, although it obviously led to her death." His voice turned harsh. "She was also preparing to burn the Archives down, which…would have undoubtedly been unpleasant for me. And after what she did to her‒ to _my_ assistants‒ I couldn't bring myself to be upset over her end."

"Not so above it all, are you?" Tim asked bitterly. "Is that why you didn't warn her? Not getting your daily dose of statements then, were you?"

"No Tim, I wasn't," the Archivist said sharply. "Gertrude made a point of not speaking to me, and forbidding her assistants to as well." A hint of a laugh crept into his voice. "Not that Gerry ever listened to her. She saw me as a threat, a servant of the Eye, and I couldn't even convince her otherwise." His voice dropped, almost drowned by static. "It…hurt…not knowing what was happening in my own Archive." 

Martin wished, desperately, that the Archivist was really there, so he could reach out and envelope him in the hug he clearly needed. He settled for squeezing Tim's hand, which really didn't help whatsoever at all.

"How do we know she wasn't right?" Tim asked. Martin knew that was the question he most wanted an answer to. "How do we know you're not a threat? How do we know you don't have some plan of your own? How do we know we can trust you."

"You can't," the Archivist admitted. "I know you think I'm something dangerous‒ I know because you've said it enough times!" he interjected quickly, when it looked like Tim was about to go off again. "I know you're distrustful of me, I can't blame you for that. I know how it feels. But I can't think of anything to prove it to you that I'm not, besides what little knowledge and warnings I can give about the statements." He sighed a burst of static. "There are the tunnels."

"What about them?" Sasha asked, perking up where she sat.

"You were on the right track, about how they block my powers. I can't perceive anything in them. I didn't even know they were there." His voice dropped even more. "I know my presence can be…bothersome. If you want somewhere to talk out of my sight, somewhere private, that's where you can go. I can't see to protect you down there, but…it may help you feel better."

Martin bit his lip. Tim didn't look angry anymore‒ more like he was considering the option. Martin knew it was a risk ‒ for all of them ‒ but as an olive branch, it was the perfect thing for the Archivist to offer.

"What about that weird intuition thing we all seem to have now?" Sasha questioned him. "What's up with that?"

"Side effect of working for the Eye, I'm afraid." The Archivist's answer was back to his usual dry flat tone, with a hint of ruefulness. "I don't know if it's preparation for one of you to take my place, or to make up for my own limited abilities. It's…unpleasant, I know."

"Would the tunnels help with that?"

"I…don't know." Rather than sounding put off, the Archivist sounded pleased about that. "It may diminish the effects while there, at least. I doubt they could ever go away entirely, in my experience they only grew stronger over time."

"How can you not know about the tunnels?" Tim asked incredulously. "Isn’t your whole thing _knowing_ things? Or is it more fun for you to not tell us?"

"If I could tell you everything I know, I would," the Archivist snapped. "In a heartbeat. But I can't. There are things the Eye won't let me see. Either I'm not strong enough, or it's hiding the knowledge from me." He paused. "Actually I'm fairly sure it's the latter. Even when I was at my strongest, there were things I couldn't know. Like my true role. Like the way to escape this. Lord knows I tried enough times."

"You didn't explain about Magnus though. What's his deal? And don't tell us you don't know, I'm sick of hearing that." Tim's frustration was evident. "You know what's happened in random people's statements but you can't tell us why the founder is still lurking around?"

Tim's question was met with disdainful silence, before shrill peal of static had them all flinching. It sounded just like it had during the confrontation with the cops, only worse. If there were any words, they were impossible to make out.

The noise died down. "Did you catch that?" the Archivist asked dryly. "Or should I say it again?"

"What‒ what was that?" Martin whispered.

"Interference," the Archivist said dryly. "From the Eye. There are things it doesn't want you to know. It does it to me too, I barely understood when Eric told Gertrude…" his voice trailed off into more static for several moments. "You didn't hear any of that, did you?" the Archivist asked when it died down. " _Damn it_."

"This is nuts," Melanie piped up, making Martin jump. He'd completely forgotten she was there, holding his hand. "Completely insane. You know that, right?"

"Yes, Melanie, I'm aware," the Archivist said bitingly.

"I don't…" Tim actually sounded like he was considering everything they'd learned, taking the time to absorb the answers."So you know things about Jonah, but you just can't tell us?"

"I told you. It. Won't. Let. Me." The Archivist ground out. "He's the Eye's favored servant and I'm its pathetic excuse of an Archivist. I can't say anything that would compromise him, or expose his plan. I don't even know if he _has_ a plan, I'm just assuming he does because he's a scheming bastard who wants his ritual to succeed."

"The rituals." Sasha seized on the word. "What are they? You've mentioned the Unknowing with some Stranger statements‒"

"The rituals are attempts by the Fear's followers to bring their patron into this world." The cold detachment in the Archivist's voice did not lessen the horror of what he was saying. "This is nothing new, there have been rituals long before the Fourteen were ever defined by _Smirke_." His voice dipped into the disdain he usually reserved for Leitner. "He developed his versions of the rituals in the belief that they would keep all the Fears in balance, although naturally all his brilliant occult friends took the ideas and used them to further their own purposes and desires."

" _Why_?" Sasha asked in disbelief.

"You said it yourself, Sasha." The Archivist sounded grimly amused. "Rich Victorian white men. I can't speak to the centuries of attempts that came before, but it's easy to imagine what their intentions could possibly be." There was a burst of static as he sighed. "Men who never washed their own clothes or made their own meals ever in their lives thinking they could categorize and control the world around them, because they were so _superior_."

The Assistants shared a look around the circle, and even Melanie seemed to mirror their expression of tense amusement towards what was obviously a sore point for the Archivist. 

"There was a series of attempts made by various members of that group, including Jonah Magnus. He wants to be king of the ruined world, to see the Eye to rise over all the others. Several more attempts were made during Gertude's time as Archivist. She saw her purpose as the one to stop them all, at any cost." His voice grew distant. "That was where we differed the most. She wasn't above making sacrifices she deemed necessary to save the world. At any cost."

Martin's breath caught in his throat. He was afraid to ask what that cost was.

"The Corruption has yet to make a recent attempt, although, if its trend continues, my guess is there will be a plague. The End has no ritual, as far as I can tell. It has no need for one, and the Web seems similarly uninterested. The Hunt’s ritual…may be ongoing. It’s the thrill of the chase, not the delight in the capture, and thus may never have an end. The Vast is due for an attempt, although…I haven’t heard anything recently. With Gertrude, there was always an uptick in statements given that were related to that fear."

"The Unknowing," Martian breathed. "The Stranger. All those statements we've had recently."

"It may happen in less than a year," the Archivist said regretfully. "And I don’t know how to protect you through it."

"Well you've been doing a great job with that so far," Tim joked bitterly. "We get attacked by worms, stalked by some mystery creature, and never got to know why until we sat you down to get some real answers. I mean, why is this happening to us? Why us? We don't want this, we didn't ask for this!"

"I didn't either." The tone of the Archivist's voice stopped Tim in his tracks. "I never did. This is a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone." His voice dropped, nearly eaten by the static. "My own failures and unthinking quest for knowledge led to me being in this state. If I can keep others from this, I'm going to do everything I can to do so." His voice hardened again. "I didn't know what I was getting into until it was far too late."

"So what happened to you?" Tim asked. Martin squeezed his hand hard, trying to tell him to take it back. He didn't want to know‒ he did, really, but he also didn't want to hurt the Archivist, and he was afraid of what he would say. The static rose in pitch, higher and higher, until it was filling the air, surrounding them completely. Martin could feel the pressure in his mind, the effort of trying to communicate, but there were no words they were able to make out. 

"Stop!" Tim half-yelled over the noise. "Knock it off!"

"Please," Martin gasped, and the static immediately died to their usual muted levels, leaving them all gasping for air.

"I'm sorry."

The words were nearly drowned by the remaining static, but Martin heard them. They all did.

"I'm so sorry about everything. I really am. I don't want this to happen, not to any of you, and I'm trying to help but I know I'm…I can't even do that right. I'm failing at this just as much as I'm failing being an Archivist."

Tim tried to interrupt but the Archivist plowed ahead. "I'm sorry I can't keep you safe. I'm sorry I can't stop what's coming. I've tried, I've tried to prepare you all as best I can, but that's all I can do. I can't protect you from another attack, I can't keep the monsters out, I can't keep any of you from getting hurt, or worse." The Archivist's voice grew tight and strangled with static. "I couldn't save Michael, or Gerry, or Eric or Fiona or Sarah. I couldn't stop Emma. I couldn't stop Gertrude." The words stopped, and the static pressed in, rising and falling in their ears. "I don't want to lose anyone else."

Martin was surprised to find himself crying. He only noticed when the tears dripped off his chin, landing on the recorder in his lap. Sasha was blinking hard as well, and even Melanie looked upset.

Tim's hand tightened in his. "Why couldn't you save them?" His voice was cautiously concerned. "Did they get fed to the Eye or something?"

"No." The thickness in the Archivist's voice wasn't just from the static. "The Eye took their fear, right until the end, but it made no effort to save them." A sharp burst of static cut in, and Martin recognized it as a frustrated laugh. "We're not all that lucky."

"What happened to them?" Sasha whispered. Martin wanted to ask her to take it back‒ he didn't want to know‒ but the Archivist answered instantly. 

"Michael was lost to the Spiral, Fiona to the Buried. Sarah was destroyed by the Desolation. Emma gave herself to the Web, but it was the Dark that ultimately claimed her. Eric…was already separated from the Eye before he was killed. And Gerry was never officially part of the Archives, but he served the Eye, and I felt his death as I did all the others."

There was more, Martin could hear the Archivist saying more, but he couldn't focus, lost to the sensations consuming him. Grief and sadness and rage and pain and helplessness. It was aching in the middle of his chest, like a gaping wound had opened there, consuming him from the inside. He couldn't breathe, his head was splitting apart, burning and blinded and lost and alone, so alone, he couldn't‒ he couldn't…

Distantly he was aware of his name being said, over and over. One in particular, saying his name like it was all he could manage. Martin blinked, still lost and confused, but no longer consumed by the sensations that had overwhelmed him. Tim had his arm in a stranglehold, and Sasha had leaned across the circle to grasp his freed hand. Even Melanie had a tight grip on his other hand. But the one he wanted to reach out and hold him wasn't capable of doing so.

"I'm sorry Martin," the Archivist was saying, over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry‒"

"That‒" Martin cut him off, swiping at his face to clear away the tears. "That's what you felt. When you lost them."

" _Yes_ ," the Archivist said sadly. "I'm so sorry Martin, you weren't‒ I never wanted you to feel that."

"Feel what?" Tim's voice was sharp and frantic, his grip tight. "What did you do to him?"

"He‒ I've noticed that Martin has a‒ a tendency to pick up on the emotional levels of others. Including mine," the Archivist added on softly. "That's why he's so perfect at what he does, with the statements, and anyone who comes to the Archives. And he felt…what I felt. When I lost them."

Martin couldn't stop the sob that forced it's way from his throat. He could still feel it. The Archivist could still feel it. Every one he'd lost.

"So it's…you're being literal, when you said you felt it when you lost them." Sasha swallowed heavily, eyes brimming with tears. "What did it feel like?"

"Like being torn apart from the inside," Martin and the Archivist said at the same time. Tim pulled away abruptly. 

"This…this is fucked," he stammered. "Why‒ why would the Eye‒"

"It has nothing to do with the Eye," the Archivist cut him off. "It doesn't care about our suffering. The opposite. _I'm_ the one who felt the fear and pain of their final moments and _ache_ with it." His voice dropped to a staticky whisper. "Because I'm the Archivist. That's what I'm meant for. To feel everything all that fear and misery and suffering, to experience it all and feed it back to the Eye."

He sounded so hurt and miserable and he couldn't do _anything_. "Can we‒" Martin stuttered. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

" _Martin_. You've done so much for me already." Oh. The Archivist's voice had changed immediately, the affection in it so obvious and palpable that it made him blush. "Not just reading statements, but talking to me, spending time here, with me. It's…it's helped more than I can say."

Martin felt a tightening feeling in his chest even as he squirmed at the attention. Tim was staring at him, flabbergasted, and Sasha and even Melanie were looking bemused. He really didn't want to know what they were thinking.

It was quiet for several moments before Melanie cleared her throat. "The connection's broken," she said quietly, nodding towards their empty hands. "I don't know how much longer we have."

Martin looked towards Tim, but he shook his head mutely. He looked too overwhelmed to say anything else, and so did Sasha, staring blankly down at her notebook. Martin bit his lip. "Do you know who's been stealing my tea?" he asked, aiming for lighthearted, but the words were still heavy in his throat.

"No," the Archivist answered him. "I can't see them."

"Oh. That's okay," Martin sighed. He could feel Tim's incredulous frown, Sasha's pitying gaze directed at him. "Stupid question, I'm sorry‒" 

"Martin," the Archivist cut him off quickly. "I. Can't. _See._ Them."

"I…oh. _Oh_." The look of dawning understanding on Tim and Sasha's faces mirrored his. Melanie looked between them all.

"What does that mean?"

"That means whatever it is," Tim said carefully, "the Archivist can't see it. The all-seeing ghost, in his own haunting abode, can't see them." His voice dipped further and further into strangled horror. " _Fuck_."

"Exactly." The Archivist's voice was growing fainter, and his next words came in a rush of static. " _Please stay safe. Look out for each other. I swear on every scrap of me that still exists, I'll do everything I can to protect you. I'm so sorry I can't…_ " His voice faded away entirely into static. One by one, the recorders all clicked off.

~*~

"Martin?" Sasha leaned back in her seat, tapping a file against her hand as he looked up at her. "This is Mr. Scaplehorn's statement? The tax inspector?"

"The one who didn't notice he walked right into the Stranger's taxidermy nightmare?" Tim piped up. "Love that man. We should all aspire to such obliviousness," he chuckled ruefully. 

"That's the guy," Sasha gestured with the file in agreement. "Did the Archivist say anything about the taxidermy place? The Trophy Room?"

"Uh, not much," Martin shrugged. "Just…just as Tim said, a front for the Stranger, something for people to be scared of. Parts and pieces of people and…" he shuddered. "And the Anglerfish."

"But no money laundering!" Tim said brightly.

Sasha still looked troubled. "Did he say anything about it still being open?" An alarmed expression jumped onto Tim's face that had to mirror Martin's own. "Because according to the internet, it still is."

"Nope," Tim said firmly. "No no no no no."

"Say no to me five more times, Stoker."

"No, Miss James!" Tim shot at her. "You are not suggesting any of us go explore the little taxidermy shop of horrors."

"I'm not suggesting that!" Sasha protested. "I'm just pointing out that we have a strong lead on where to find some Strangers and can maybe use our Eye-related superpowers to actually learn something!" She rolled her eyes, a playful grin on her face. "How hard can it be to spy on a bunch of fake people anyway? Just go in and pretend you're one of them." She widened her eyes and put on a large exaggerated grin. "Hello, yes, I am a fellow mannequin here for my bi-monthly restuffing. How goes the apocalypse planning?"

Martin side-eyed her and put on his cattiest voice. "Darling, you can't imitate a mannequin with that fashion sense." He felt bad for a second, but it was worth it for Sasha's exaggerated outrage and the howl of laughter from Tim. He didn't think she was really considering it anyway. 

Tim got himself mostly under control and picked up his recorder. He held it out towards Sasha like a microphone. "Back us up, Archivist. Tell Sasha not to go exploring the Trophy Room."

As if he'd been waiting for his opening, the Archivist responded instantly. " _Do not go exploring the Trophy Room_ ," he said firmly. Tim was obviously surprised to get a response, but his smile remained firm. 

"See? Mister Spooky and I in agreement for once." His grin melted into a grimace, as if he was disappointed with himself about that.

"You men are all so unsupportive," Sasha grumped, slouching back in her seat. "No sense of adventure towards exploring enemy territory." She sighed. "But seriously, it's just sitting there, being all Stranger-y and doing terrible things to people. We can't let them get away with it."

"We can mail them a tape recorder," Martin suggested. He broke into a grin at Sasha and Tim's expressions as they considered the idea, and soon their grins matched his. 

"That is brilliant!" Sasha declared over Tim's laughter. "He can spy on them. Grab an envelope, make sure it doesn't have the Institute's letterhead." She hunched over her laptop, clicking quickly to pull up the address. "We're absolutely expensing this to the Institute though. They can pay for postage." 

Tim opened his desk drawer and leaned over it. "Any volunteers?" he asked, and stuck his hand in. "Yep, I think the Archivist approves of your plan," he declared as he pulled out a new and wholly unremarkable recorder, one of the smallest Martin had seen.

"Of course he does," Sasha teased as Tim tossed the recorder to Martin. "Martin's his favorite." Martin made a show of ignoring Tim's snort as he dug through his desk for an envelope. 

It occured to Martin only after they’d mailed the recorder that they’d have no way of getting the tape back, but he needn't have worried. The recorder was back three days later, looking no worse for wear and already helpfully rewound. Martin pressed play as he sat down at his desk, listening carefully to the muffled sounds of what seemed to be an ordinary postman chatting nervously with someone that didn't sound like they were Daniel Rawlings. There was an even longer stretch of time that was nothing but muffled voices, which Martin was quite sure he could decipher if he could listen to it with headphones. Finally there was a tearing noise, a thunk, and a bitten-off swear.

"Wotssat?" a deep and exaggerated Cockney voice asked. Martin recognized one half of Breekon and Hope.

"A little spy from the Beholding," the thing that wasn't Daniel Rawlings sneered. It was swiftly followed by a crunching noise Martin recognized, followed by silence. He imagined that was when the recorder had been smashed. 

Martin shook his head. "Well, at least they knew it was us," he sighed as he began rewinding the tape. Somehow, he doubted that they would take it as any kind of threat. But it was a start. 

~*~

Martin was getting used to jumping out of his skin when the recorders turned themselves on, but the double shock of his phone going off at the same time was far worse. "You know, it's really annoying when you do that," he said irritably towards the recorder as he fished out his phone. It was an unknown number, which he hated answering, but always did since it could have to do with his mother. And since the Archivist had reacted as well, it seemed to indicate that he should take the call.

"This is Martin," he answered cautiously. 

"Blackwood? It's Basira."

Martin made a confused face to himself. What was she calling for? "We‒ I don't know anything else about Gertrude‒"

"Not now," Basira cut him off. "Maxwell Raynor? Have you heard of him?"

Martin felt a cold dread settle over him. That was the Dark. "The‒ the leader of the People's Church? I don’t‒"

" _Maxwell Raynor is attempting to transfer his consciousness into the body of Callum Brody,_ " the Archivist interrupted with a burst of static. " _Including Raynor, there are seven members of the People's Church of the Divine Host attempting the switch at Outer Bay Shipping's warehouse. You'll need every torch you can get your hands on._ "

The Archivist's words were met with a strangled silence from the other end of the phone. "What?" Basira finally asked. Martin winced.

"Bring lights," he advised. "Stay away from the dark as much as you can." He wanted to say more, but the line abruptly died. Martin groaned as he put his phone down and buried his head in his hands.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked. "I mean, I get it, your whole 'gotta protect everyone' thing, that applies to her as well, I guess." He fought down a surge of…something. "But she's gonna come back and start asking questions and I really don't think‒" this was directed straight to the recorder "-you'll like her questioning you. If you thought Tim was bad…"

He was right. Not even two days later, Basira stormed into the Archives wearing her civilian clothes. She didn't stop to look at any of them, just made her way straight to the empty office. Sasha gave Martin a wince as Tim shook his head. Neither moved to get up.

Martin gave Basira a few minutes as he brewed her tea. When he walked in carrying her cup, he found her investigating the largest recorder, inside and out. The angry frustration on her face wouldn't have looked out of place on Tim's.

"Right," she demanded once she noticed him. "How's it work? How'd he know what was going to happen?" 

Martin sighed as he set her tea down. "It's not that he knows what's gonna happen," he corrected her. "He…knows about supernatural happenings. If he can, he tries to warn us." 

Basira gave him a deeply unimpressed look. "So, what, he sensed that I was in danger and offered his professional opinion?"

Martin shrugged while nodding. "Basically, yeah." 

That didn't look like the answer Basira wanted. She looked genuinely upset for the first time he'd ever seen, her careful composure cracked. Martin pointedly pushed her tea closer. She stared at it but didn't move. 

"Why?" she finally asked. "Why me? I mean, James I get, I get why he came to her rescue, but I tried to arrest her. Shouldn't he want to see me walk into a nightmare?"

"God, no." That wasn't…that wouldn't be his Archivist. "The Archivist…his whole thing is that he wants to protect us. Not just us but anyone. There are bad things out there‒"

"No kidding."

"And he wants to help. However he can. And, unfortunately," he nodded at the recorder, "all he can really do is warn us."

Finally, some tension left her shoulders. "Sounds miserable," she sighed as she finally took a seat. Everything about her seemed to relax, except her eyes, still focused on the recorder. She had that look he knew so well, the look of someone who'd had a close brush with something supernatural and was trying to reconcile it in their own mind. He didn't envy her.

"Did it…did the mission not go well?"

Basira snorted a painful laugh. "You could say that." She grabbed up her tea and took a careful sip, a surprised expression crossing her face when she found it was already at the perfect temperature. Martin did know what he was doing when it came to tea, after all. "We got the kid back, but…we lost one of the sectioned officers, and none of the higher-ups will tell us anything. They're already making up a story to shove what happened under the rug…" She trailed off, eyeing the recorder. "This ghost of yours, how much does he know about what really happened?"

Martin sighed as he took a seat. "He'll know more if you give a statement. He‒ the Dark is the hardest to perceive‒” Martin blinked, momentarily shocked by what he’d said without thinking before he brushed it off as Beholding-related knowledge. "But he still knows a lot. Maybe he can tell you more about what happened."

"So that's how it works then? I give him a statement, he gives us answers?"

"Yes." 'I hope so,' he mentally added. This would be the first live statement since their little summoning, and with the increased chattiness…he didn't know what to expect. 

"Is it weird that there's a part of me that doesn't want to know?" Basira asked, sounding hesitant for the first time. "Like I know this isn't going to help. It'll probably make things worse." Even as she said it, her eyes rose to meet Martin's, and he knew the look in them. He saw it in Sasha all the time, the hunger for an answer.

"It's up to you," he told her softly. It didn't matter how much she did or didn't want to know. There were some things that were just too much, and he hoped this wasn't one of them.

Basira's statement was as dark as he expected. Literally and figuratively. He recognized a woman mentioned in a previous statement, and felt a strange sense of familiarity about Raynor, even though he'd only heard him mentioned a few times in other statements. But more than anything, he had the deepest sense that the Archivist was hanging off her every word, picking up every detail. If he could physically be there, he imagined he'd be hunched over the desk, staring intently at Basira. Not unlike how Martin himself was doing.

When she was done, Martin waited as she gulped her tea and the wheels on the recorder spun, finishing the Archivist's thoughts. "I was right," Basira murmured to herself. "That didn't help." Martin felt an urge to reach out and comfort her, but held himself back. He didn't think that would go over well. The recorder clicking off was much quieter than usual, almost as if it were afraid of breaking the moment.

They listened only to the end of her statement, just before the Archivist began speaking. When he did, he sounded almost tired. "The attempted confluence of the consciousness calling itself Raynor and Callum Brodie did fail. Whatever was left of Raynor has returned to the Darkness it came from, and I…don't know if it will return, or if it can return, or what shape it will be in if it does.

"Unfortunately, the incident has left Callum Brodie Marked." The Archivist sounded genuinely regretful about that. "Only time will tell what will come from being Marked in such a way, but…" his voice became impossibly quieter, "…speaking from personal experience, being Marked at a young age is…difficult. I'm afraid Callum will face many challenges over time, even if the Mark doesn't draw any other attention to him."

"Statement ends."

After a moment, Basira looked up at him, eyes wide and serious. "What does that mean, Marked?" she asked with a tone that indicated she already knew.

Martin's voice wavered as he answered. "I think…I think that means that one of these…things…left its influence, or its attention or‒" _personal experience_ , he'd said, a tiny tidbit of who he'd been before‒ "it gets these thing's attention, means they'll come back and…" Had the Archivist's Mark led him here? Was that how he started down the path of being the Archivist? As a child, seeing _something_ that changed him and led him seeking answers? Following the thread until it led him to the Archives that consumed him?

"So we didn't even really save him?" Basira said bitterly. "He's going to be worse off until something else terrible comes?" Martin didn't voice the other option, that he could end up as "something else terrible" himself. Basira already seemed to know that.

"This is…I can't. I'm done." She sounded done. "I can't do this anymore. Not just this, I'm quitting the police force. Everything that's happened, and no one's doing anything about it…I just. I can't."

Martin nodded in understanding. "I genuinely wish you good luck with that," he said softly. He hoped, he really did hope, that she could get out, could escape without being marked. No one deserved that.

"You should leave too," Basira told him. "You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Martin agreed. Of course he should run, should have run a long time ago. His hand came to rest on the recorder. "But…I can't."

Basira looked down at his hand and nodded sadly. "I get it." She stood, pulling her composure back around her. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope I never see you again."

Martin laughed despite himself, standing to shake her hand. "Likewise," he said, and with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, Basira turned and left the office. 

" _She'll be back,_ " the Archivist told him, voice whispering from the largest recorder. Martin's heart pounded in his chest.

"Is she Marked?" he asked cautiously. 

" _No. Just stubborn. She wants answers. Wants a fix to the problem. She knows I have information…_ " he trailed off, before his voice came back stronger. " _Keep her away from the Head of the Institute._ "

Martin sighed. "I'll try." He didn't say that doing so would be about as effective as his attempts to keep Sasha from the tunnels. He was fairly certain the Archivist already knew that as well.

~*~

"Hey, Tim?" Martin shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, fingers twitching around the mug of hot cocoa. He couldn't hook his fingers into the handle because it had somehow ended up inside the mug. "Can you come with me into the tunnels?" He asked when Tim looked up. "For…safety." He held the mug up. "Got a cocoa delivery for Michael."

Tim seemed to pick up on what he wasn't saying. "Sure," he said overly-cheerfully, snagging his own mug of cold tea from his desk. "Nothing like a drinks break down in the creepy tunnels," he said as he trailed after him, and Martin winced. It wasn't like the Archivist wouldn't know what they were really doing ‒ he'd suggested it after all ‒ but he didn't want to make it so obvious. 

He was already feeling a bit off-kilter without his recorder in his pocket like it usually was, and stepping into the tunnels somehow made it worse. Like a lens had popped out of his glasses frames, so he was only seeing clearly from one eye while the other was nearly-useless. Tim rested his hand on his shoulder when he stumbled, seemingly unaffected. "You okay?" he asked carefully.

Martin nodded as he led the way through the first corridor. Sasha's voice echoed down it, but when they reached her, she wasn't speaking or reading from the statement open in her arms. Her recorder was running, repeating her words without a hint of the Archivist's voice. She looked up at them almost sadly.

"Looks like he was right," she sighed as she clicked off the recorder. "The Eye and the Archivist can't reach us down here. I tried-" she wiggled her fingers in front of her forehead‒ “you know, _knowing_ something, and it didn’t work.”

"Do you think we should tell him?" Martin asked as he moved further down the corridor. There was a doorway in the wall that led nowhere, and he left the mug of cocoa on the threshold before returning to them.

"You think he doesn't already know?" Tim asked, taking a sip of his tea and pulling a face.

"That's…what I wanted to talk to you about." Martin sighed. "Have you noticed he's…different, after we talked to him last month?"

Tim and Sasha shared a look. "You mean like him popping into conversations sometimes?" Sasha asked carefully. "Because yes, we've definitely noticed that."

"And do you think that's…bad?" Martin hesitantly asked. His stomach churned, the sense of wrongness that had been building for some time making itself known. He'd hoped it had just been the intuition thing, but here down in the tunnels, it was plainly obvious that it was all him.

He liked it, of course he did, that sometimes he could say good morning to the recorders and hear a whispery and staticky " _Good morning Martin_ in return. That it actually felt like he was having a real conversation with him sometimes‒ even though it was still almost entirely one-sided‒ because the feeling of someone else being there was so strong. Even the statements felt less overbearing, now that he knew he really was doing it for a purpose. 

But…the knowledge was always there, in the back of his mind, that the Entities feasted on fear, and the Archivist was so connected to the Eye, and the statements were nothing but other people's fear. He knew the Archivist hated his position, hated being what he was, couldn't help what he was. But the reality was there, and it wasn't good. 

"For us? For him?" Tim shrugged. "It's a pretty clear sign that he's getting stronger. Which, you know, good for us. Good for him. But good for the Eye as well." He waggles his hand in the air. "Kinda a win-lose situation."

Sasha sucked a breath. "I mean, you're talking some deep philosophical musings about if lessening one person's suffering is justified even if it's at the expense of others," she said as she leaned back against the wall. "Normally I'd like a few drinks in me before getting into that, but since we're on the clock…"

"Why are you even asking us?" Tim asked suspiciously. Martin kept his gaze trained on the floor.

"Because I'm trying to check with you two more, instead of assuming everything's alright since it's coming from him," he admitted. "I know it's partially my fault Tim was acting off, because I was lying to him about the statements‒"

"Martin, no," Tim tried to cut him off, but he talked over him.

"-and I'm sorry about that, I really am. So, I guess this is a…morality check in, I guess. To make sure I'm not seeing something obvious because I'm‒" 

"He trusts you, Martin," Sasha butted in. "I really don't think he'd have said half of what he did if you weren't there. You're the reason we know more about him, not just about what's going on. He won't do anything to hurt you if he can help it."

"Martin, I don't ever want you to apologize to me about what _I_ said again," Tim said solemnly, staring at the floor. "I swear. I was absolutely wrong to say what I did, and I was wrong even before we talked to him, and it turned out you were right this whole time. I know you're too good to properly hate me after that, but you have every right to."

Martin swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Tim was right, he knew that, he knew he should hate him. But he couldn't. "You're my friend," he whispered. "I want to trust you like I do him. I don't…you weren't wrong either, not really. That's why I'm asking now, because if you think something's wrong, then I should listen to you this time."

Tim looked like he was about to keep going on his vein of apologizing, but a look from Sasha had him changing tracks. "Whatever's wrong with this place, it's not coming from him. I mean, he's part of it, but it hasn’t gotten better since we talked to him ‒ hell, if anything, it's gotten worse, now that I know I’m not crazy and that there is something‒" he gestured vaguely around at the tunnels‒ "lurking around trying to kill us. But at least we know it's not him."

Sasha nodded solemnly in agreement. "If he does anything else…concerning, then we'll check in again. I meah, inherently I know it's _bad_ , whatever those things are. And their monsters. We shouldn't want to work with them." Her lips twitched into a small smile. "But our Archivist…he's looking out for us." She shot a glance over at Tim. "Whatever some of us might argue."

"I'm done arguing," he insisted. "If this is some evil plan, it's too long and complicated and he should be ashamed of it." He smiled hesitantly at Martin. "Besides, I don't think he's that good of an actor."

Martin grinned back, finally letting go of the last bit of tension he held. It would always be there, the voice in the back of his head calling him stupid for trusting, that letting him in again would only hurt later. But he was good at ignoring that little voice. He knew Tim was a good person, he really was, and still wanted to be his friend. Sasha was looking at them both like she was delighted they had worked it out, and that was good too. It was nice to have their trust again.

If only he wasn't going to ruin it by planning to do something deeply stupid. 

~*~

"Alright, Archivist," Martin said quietly as he pulled his recorder from his pocket. "You keep quiet about this to Tim. I think we'd both be happier if I didn't join you quite yet." His laugh fell flat in the silent Archives. He could almost feel the disapproval in the air around him. "Actually I’m sure you’d have some things to say about me doing this, but…as much as I like hearing from you, I'm not gonna give you a second statement just to hear you chew me out." The sense of disapproval grew.

He coughed awkwardly. "It'll be just like the old days, you know, when I was living here. Except this time I'm not hiding from worms, I'm hiding from…whatever's coming in here without your notice." It did not sound any better out loud. "I swear, I'm not going to put myself in danger. I'll be well-hidden, I won't engage. I'll just see what it is, and then I can tell you, and you can tell us what kind of danger we're in."

It sounded stupidly reckless‒ he knew that, even without the supernatural knowing powers. He didn't even know if he _could_ see whatever it was, or if it would even show up that night. But as bad as his idea was, the alternative was worse‒ allowing some _thing_ to lurk around in the Archives without the Archivist's eyes on it. That was the kind of danger they couldn't allow.

"Besides," he said as he set the recorder down next to boxes of statements he'd pulled from the disorganized section of the stacks, "I have you watching out for me. I know you won't let anything bad happen to me." He laughed to himself as he opened the first box. "And that's me knowing, I'll have you know. I don't know that because of some supernatural instinct, I know because I trust you. So…"

The sense of disgruntlement in the air around him softened like butter on a hot day. Martin smiled to himself. "Now, I'm going to sort these statements, and you're not going to cheat and tell me if they're real or not. I want to see if I can tell myself."

It was a comfortable silence they settled in. It really was like the old days, nothing but the soft hum from the pipes and emergency lights, the whisper of static from the recorder and the occasional snort when Martin came across a particularly fake statement. His torch was a soft pool of light in the darkness, and despite the recent activity from the followers of the Dark, he couldn't bring himself to be afraid of it. It was far too easy to imagine someone else just outside of the light, just a step away, quietly watching him work. A soothing presence in the dark. 

Several hours later, the peace was broken by an unexpectedly loud creak, at the time of night no one was moving about for any good purpose. Martin's eyes shot to the recorder as he held his breath, straining his ears. The static sharpened, just a bit, but no warning squeal as quiet footsteps approached. Martin clicked off his torch and hid himself behind the boxes, holding his recorder close to his chin as he peered through the crack between two of them. For a long minute, there was nothing but him breathing heavily but silently, legs trembling, wondering what he was about to see. Or not.

Finally, a figure strode boldly into the Archives, coming from the direction of the trapdoor in the storage closet. Seemingly unbothered, it shut Sasha and Tim's recorders in their desk drawers before checking for Martin's and scanning the room for the spare. Martin bristled. Whoever they were, they obviously knew about the Archivist, and how to hide himself from what little sight he had. As if he had any right to be there in the first place.

"It's an older person," Martin barely breathed into his recorder. "Male-presenting. Somewhat shabby clothes, but not unclean." Martin watched him rifle through the files on Tim's desk, flip through Sasha's notebook. A frown crossed his face, and he shook his head. He turned away, and Martin watched with quiet fury as he began making tea with _his_ supplies.

This was a bad idea, such a bad idea, he could hear the little voice in his head ‒ which sounded exactly like the Archivist ‒ telling him so. But this person had no right to be in the Archives without the Archivist's permission, messing with his tea and driving Tim mad. So he stepped out from behind the boxes with a loud "Hey!"

He really didn't expect the person to flail and stumble back with a bitten-off yelp. Several pages slipped out from under his jacket, and he drove for them, but scurried back when Martin surged forward, putting his foot down on them. The static from the recorder in his hand burst out louder.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Martin asked, watching the man carefully. He seemed like an ordinary old man, but he knew better than to trust appearances.

"Please‒ I'm here to see if you've found out anything about the Unknowing." Martin immediately moved away from him, sensing a threat, sliding his foot holding the papers with him. "No, I'm on your side as well, you see. I also wish to stop it."

Martin looked him over, weighing his odds. The man did seem to be as he presented‒ older, somewhat frail-looking, and still holding his defensive posture, even with Martin some distance away. If he was a threat, surely any facade would fall at this point, with him at a greater advantage. "Who are you?"

With a rather put-upon sigh, the man dropped his hands to give him a small bow. "Jurgen Leitner, at your service."

Martin took another step back, this time in disbelief. The man ‒ Leitner ‒ eyed the pages on the floor, and it occurred to Martin that he'd probably been stepping on one of his cursed books and he moved back even further. "You?" he asked incredulously. “How are you here? How are you _alive_?”

"Ah," Leitner sighed, straightening his shirt collar fussily. "Yes. I've been residing in the tunnels under this Institute for some time now. I've felt it best, these last few years, to have it believed I was dead. But I am very much alive."

"No I mean, how are you _here,_ alive?" Martin clarified. "How are you here in the Archives? The Archivist _hates_ you, we all thought you'd be dead if you ever came near him. How are you even able to be here?"

Leitner reluctantly pointed towards the pages on the floor. "That pamphlet is called 'A Disappearance.' It allows me to be shielded by non-physical sight. Such as that of your boss, and your Archivist." He sighed, shaking his head. "It seems you are aware of him. I had hoped that whoever inherited Gertude's duties would remain ignorant of him, and he would fully fade away with time."

Martin's dislike of the man skyrocketed. "What do you have against the Archivist?" he asked stiffly, hoping for an answer that would explain the animosity from the Archivist.

Leitner gave him an achingly disdainful look. "I should think that's obvious. He's an instrument of the Beholding." He peered at Martin. "I suppose you don't know anything about the Dread Powers."

"The Fourteen Fears? We know all about those," Martin snapped. "The Archivist told us all about them. Because he wants us to know about the danger. Unlike Gertrude." Did he know that? The Archivist certainly did. He could feel it for once, the knowledge being shared, the Archivist's questions burning in his mind. "How did you know about him? About the Fears?" Was it possible that one of his books actually had answers, instead of more horrors? It was almost too good to believe. 

"Gertrude and I worked together for many years, tracking down my wayward books." Leitner looked uncomfortable answering so many questions. Good. "It was difficult, to keep away from any prying eyes, but very educational, working with her. Besides that, I think she was just lonely."

"I'd imagine she was, after _killing off everyone who got close to her_." Martin had no idea how much of this the Archivist was able to perceive, if Leitner's little trick was blocking his answers as well. But his fury was his own, and he wasn't letting Leitner off easily. "You're giving him your statement."

"I don't believe that's necessary‒"

"I do!" Martin cut him off angrily. "You broke in. You stole my tea. You've caused _hundreds_ of people untold misery because of your books, and you're going to tell him all about it." His own recorder was already in his hand, but he didn't want to use it for this man's statement. Luckily, the spare recorder was sitting on the canteen desk, where it certainly hadn't been before. Martin snatched it up and held it out towards Leitner. "Statement of Jurgen Leitner regarding his life and works. Recorded direct from subject the 16th of February 2017." 

Eyes wide and staring, Leitner shakily began his statement. Martin didn't look away, didn't let his face betray the range of emotions he was feeling. Bitter disgust at the man's carelessness, rising anger and heartbreak over his assistants, and increasing hatred for the man who was so flippant about the danger in his life and how it affected those around him. He heard no sign of remorse.

"Yeah," he said dully, once Leitner finally trailed off. "I can see why he hates you now."

"Surely hate is too strong‒"

"You don't even remember their names!" Martin burst out at him. "You, and Gertrude, you treated your assistants like cannon fodder. Like they're nothing in the face of 'the greater good'." His chest was burning with rage, with the lingering pain of the Archivist's loss. It was horrible enough to lose them all, unable to help save them, but knowing now that Gertrude and Leitner _didn't even care_ , talked themselves into thinking they were in the right, despite the loss of those they should have been looking after. His hands clenched into fists. "At least the Archivist cares about us. He protects us. He would _never_ do to us what you and Gertrude did."

He didn't need the Eye to tell him the truth of his words.

"Get out."

"Please," Leitner begged. "There's so much more at stake. The fate of the world‒"

"Yes, we know, the rituals and those monsters out there." Martin pinned him with his fiercest stare. "If you're really on our side, you'll figure it out yourself. Put your own damn self at risk. We don't need anything else from you."

Leitner looked like he was about to say more, but Martin stepped closer and straightened up, putting his full height and girth on display. He normally didn't, usually tried to avoid drawing attention to just how large he was by any means possible, but now, as he stared down at Leitner quailing at the sight of him, he couldn't bring himself to feel bad.

"Don't ever come back here. If we get any other hint of you around here, if the Archivist thinks that there's any possibility of you being here, he'll tell us. And you'll regret ever coming aboveground again."

Maybe it was an empty threat ‒ he wasn't Gerry after all, ready to throw down against the man ‒ but Leitner didn't know that. He dove for his pages and fled from the room. Martin didn't relax until he heard the trapdoor slam, then sighed, feeling his anger settle. But not entirely. 

"I get it now," he assured his recorder, patting it through his shirt. "I hate him too."

After being silent through the whole exchange, the Archivist finally spoke up. " _I don't want to be like him_."

Martin almost laughed, except for the seriousness in his voice, the reminder that he couldn't actually _do_ anything to protect his people. "You're not," Martin assured him. "Never." Warmth flooded his chest, coming from the point over his heart and through his shirt. Martin gave it another pat and headed out of the Archives, making the trek to the break room. It was far too late to consider heading home, and if he was going to spend the night, he needed some chamomile tea. 

~*~

It was so late, no one should be left in the Institute. And yet, as Martin approached the break room, he saw movement and light reflected against the floor. His steps faltered, wondering what else he could possibly encounter that night, until a familiar noise reached his ears. The pitch of whine amidst static from his recorder, and the sound of wheels on wood. 

Rounding the corner, he was able to see the TV tucked in the corner was on and playing _The Shining_. It was the scene where the little kid was riding his tricycle, going around and around the hotel hallways. After watching for nearly a minute, Martin realized that it was on a loop, never cutting to the next scene. Just the endless maze of a fictional hotel that didn't fit into itself.

Michael was sprawled on the couch in a way only he could manage, hanging off both ends at once. His head tipped back until he was staring at Martin upside down, hair spooling onto the floor. "Assistant," he greeted with a smile. "You look disturbed."

"As do you," Martin said politely back. He set the kettle on the hob and began preparing their respective drinks, feeling the beginnings of a headache like nausea in his brain. "You hang out down in the tunnels sometimes, right?" he asked casually over his shoulder.

"Yes. They are more of mine than they are of yours." As he suspected. Michael's tone sounded almost gloating. "It was rather fun for me when the other assistant was exploring." His grin was wide and toothy. "She was so lost, sometimes."

Martin nodded non-committedly as he prepped his tea and Michael's cocoa. "There's someone else down there too," he told him. "Jurgen Leitner."

Michael's head snapped right-way up with a crack, even as the rest of his body remained perfectly still. "Is that who it is?" He chuckled, long and low. "I wondered who it could be. He is so very afraid of me. Tries so hard to keep away." Martin couldn't bring himself to have an ounce of pity for the man. "He cheats. Always moving the tunnel walls." His eyes narrowed like he was sharing a secret. "More afraid of being found than of me."

"I don't suppose you'd be able to keep him away from the Archives?" Michael stared at him, and Martin couldn't tell if he was thinking it over or not. His long sharp fingers were idly caressing the floor, carving fractal patterns into the linoleum. "Just a suggestion," Martin added, and swallowed the thick taste in his mouth. God, he hoped his question hadn't crossed the line.

"Why would I do that, Assistant?" Michael finally asked. "What has Jurgen Leitner done to wrong you?"

"He's just as bad as Gertrude," Martin grumbled as he delivered Michael his cocoa. He sat up to take it, body shifting and distorting in a way that made Martin's teeth hurt. "Letting his assistants die and he didn't even care. Neither of them did."

"Is this your anger you feel, or your Archivist's?" Martin looked up into Michael's eyes, and regretted it. The pain was stronger in the back of his mind, and the accompanying feeling of queasiness and sadness. But his question struck him. How did he know what emotions were his own anymore? How could he even tell?

"I feel like I'd be pretty angry, if Gertrude or Leitner or someone tried to sacrifice me to a monster," he decided, taking a sip from his mug. The tea was nice, it was just fine, but he found himself wishing he had given in and made himself a cup of cocoa as well. "I'm allowed to be mad about the suffering of others even if I never knew them."

"Others like those who have been lost to my hallways?" Michael's voice was dangerously neutral. "Others like those who have tasted my madness and never lose it again?" His sharp fingertips tapped against his mug. "And yet you bring me cocoa." Even as he took a sip, his eyes never left Martin's, endlessly twisting and shifting. 

The threat hung in the air. Martin knew a trick question when he heard one. He also knew better than to answer honestly. "I'm human," he said. "I'm allowed to have contradictions."

Michael squinted at him, before throwing his head back and laughing. On the TV screen, Danny finally rounded the corner to find the twin ghost girls.

"Go ahead and think that for as long as you can," Michael giggled to himself as the echoes of his laugh died down. Martin filed that away to worry about another day.

"Well," he sighed as he moved away. "Nice as always to chat with you, but I need to be going. If you do see Leitner in the tunnels, at least give him a good poke from me."

"You know, you're still in danger here." Martin risked looking him in the face again, noting the ever-shifting smile that could mean just about anything. His heart, already beating so fast the entire time they were chatting, pounded in his ears.

"Are you saying that because you're sitting there, or do you mean in general?"

Michael grinned, wide and leering. "Yes."

Martin was about to say something jokey back, more in line with Michael's tone, but he stopped. He remembered the Archivist's pain-filled words, the devastation in his voice when he remembered the Assistants he couldn't protect. The ones he couldn't keep safe. The ones he lost.

" _I couldn't save Michael._ "

"What about you?" he asked, and Michael blinked at the sincerity in his voice. "This…thing, this threat, are you in danger from it too?" It was hard to imagine something like Michael being threatened by anything, and maybe it was the Archivist's misplaced concern he felt, but he had to ask.

"I…don't know." Michael's eyes were very wide and staring, his voice much more quiet and solemn. "I'm not the one it's after, Assistant." 

Feeling bold, Martin reached out and carefully put his hand on top of Michael's. It felt like biting a piece of metal, the teeth-wiggling feeling of tearing velcro all over his body, but he didn't pull away. "Still. Be careful around it. Look out for yourself."

"I don't have a self," Michael softly told him. Martin swallowed down the feeling in his chest that tore open at his words and gave his hand another squeeze that made his hand go numb with tingles. Michael watched him as he walked away, and Martin couldn't help but feel that he was leaving something behind.

Under the pitchy whine of the static, Martin heard a very faint " _thank you_ ". He squeezed the recorder under his jumper with his still-numb hand as he swallowed down the lump in his throat.

The hallways back to the Archives were familiar, cool and dark, but he didn't relax until he was in the safety of the Archives and the recorder's whine died down into its familiar soothing static. Martin found himself yawning as he readied himself and the cot for sleeping, leaving his recorder on his pillow as he brushed his teeth and changed in the bathroom. It stayed there even as he climbed under the sheets and fell asleep, pulled down by its soothing white noise. His dreams were filled with static, and a deeply calming sense of being watched over.

~*~

" _Jurgen Leitner_?" Tim repeated disbelievingly. " _That's_ who's been lurking in the tunnels?"

"And stealing my tea," Martin reminded him. "Yes."

"Creepy," Sasha shuddered dramatically. "Ugh, now I don't want to think about him watching me exploring down there." Her nose scrunched. "Is it weird that I don't like that more than I don't like the idea of Michael stalking me down there?"

"Yeah," Tim deadpanned. "S'pose that's Archivist interference again."

"At least with Michael you know he can hurt you. Might actually want to," Martin pointed out. "Leitner and Gertrude, their 'harmless old people' charade…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "At least Michael never lied about what he's like."

“Well, at least the mystery of your missing tea's been solved,” Tim joked, gently bumping his shoulder against Martin’s. “But don't think you're off the hook about staying here alone last night."

“He was fine,” Sasha butted in before Martin could respond. “If he wasn't the Archivist's favorite before, he absolutely is now."

"Oh, he was," Tim joked, but Sasha carried on.

"He's done what the Archivist probably dreams of doing, chewing out Leitner and kicking him out of the Archives." Her grin was soft and teasing. "You deserve a medal for that."

"Or something else," Tim said with an exaggerated wink that made Martin turn red. Honestly, the teasing wasn't bad compared to the earlier outburst, but he would really rather have neither.

Any further teasing was stopped by the sound of someone rapidly descending the stairs. Tim was on his feet in an instant, moving to put himself between the intruder and them. But it was only Melanie who came barreling into the room, looking around frantically before her eyes settled on Martin. 

"Was there someone here last night?" she asked. "Did someone stay here overnight?"

Martin stared at her as Tim and Sasha also turned to look at him. "How‒ how did you know that?"

"Because I didn't dream last night. Holy smokes, I knew it." Melanie dropped against one of the spare desks, looking amazed. "That _was_ him."

"Don't you dare come down here with another mystery for the Archives," Tim snapped at her, only half-joking. 

"Too late," Melanie snarkily short back. "Because your Archivist has another special little talent he forgot to mention." Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at her side, where the newest recorder had appeared next to her. "Well? Are you going to say it? Or I will."

It was silent except for the hiss of static. "We haven't read any statements today," Martin told her, unease crawling up his spine. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened during his stay, besides the encounter with Leitner and Michael. Nothing to do with the Archivist directly. But Melanie was acting like something had happened. Something bad.

"Fine. Then I'll talk." Melanie looked between them all. "I've been having…dreams," she said hesitantly. "Which is weird for me in the first place, I'm not someone who remembers their dreams. Georgie says that's really uncommon, but that's how I've always been. Until the last few months." Her voice had gone steady, and Martin recognized the tone of a statement-giver. Maybe the Archivist would be able to talk when she was done. 

"In my dreams, I'm at the hospital again, watching Sarah Baldwin peel her arm off, and that Slaughter-ghost or whatever attacks her. Again and again, every time I sleep. The same dream, every time." She bit her lip. "And there's something else there too. I look over, and there's a figure in the shadows, watching everything. I‒ I know they're watching because…" she swallowed. "Because they're covered in eyes."

The Archives were deadly silent. "Oh, no," Tim groaned. "No."

"Yep," Melanie confirmed, almost sadly. "It's…not great." She gave herself a shake. "Anyway, I kinda just brushed it off. It's freaky, yeah, but it‒ there's worse things I could dream about. But then, the last couple of weeks, after I gave my other statement, I started dreaming about the railyard, and getting attacked, and the whole time the figure is there, watching." Her gaze focused on Martin. "Until last night. Last night, nothing. Because apparently you were having a sleepover."

Martin's chest felt too tight to breathe. For the first time, the weight of his recorder in his pocket didn't feel comforting. 

"So you think it's the Archivist?" Sasha said softly. 

"I know it's him!" Melanie shot back. "I talked to that guy from the Anglerfish statement, Nathan whatever, and‒"

"You did what?" Tim blurted out.

"You‒ these statements are all confidential," Sasha said worriedly. "We can get in so much trouble‒" 

"You have a ghost stalking dreams and things plotting the end of the world, I think you have bigger issues!" Melanie cut her off. "Besides, I pretended I was with the Institute doing follow-up. And he said he was also dreaming about his encounter, and had the same figure in his dreams." She nodded towards the back of the room. "Bet if you call up all the people in the statements you've recorded, they'll say the same thing. He's not just haunting the Archives, he's haunting dreams." Her gaze shot down to her recorder again. "So? Am I right or not?"

There was no break in the static. "Give it to Martin," Tim said grimly. "He always talks for Martin."

Martin tried to keep his hands from shaking as he accepted the recorder. He didn't want to ask. The answer was already there in his mind, as if he always knew. It took a few tries to get the words out past the lump in his throat. "Archivist?" he asked shakily. "Is that you in the dreams?"

The answer was quieter than he'd ever heard. " _Yes_."

Martin blinked rapidly, the feeling in his chest settling heavy and rotten. He could hear Tim's hiss, Sasha's unhappy groan, but that was outside of the sad little bubble he now existed in with the Archivist. "W-why?" He sounded like a kid again, upset and confused, unbelieving that their world had just been torn apart before their eyes.

" _Punishment_."

Melanie's harsh laugh cut in. "Punishment for what, giving you a statement?" she asked, sarcasm curdling her voice. "Great retention policy you have, no wonder people don't ever come back‒"

"My _punishment_." The Archivist's words were still too soft, but the others heard them anyway. They all grew still as tears began to slip down Martin's cheeks.

"This is my fault," he whispered, wiping away the tears that dripped onto the recorder. "I thought ‒ I thought I was helping."

"Martin, no." Tim crowded in, taking the recorder from his hands and trying to pull him in for a hug, but Martin remained unmoved. "This is him, this is one of his freaky things‒"

"I read the statements for him!" Martin burst out at him. Tim stumbled back, stunned. "All those people who gave us their statements, the worst moments of their lives, and I'm the one who put him in their dreams to live it out again, over and over. How is this not my fault?"

All those people. Months of statements. He didn't know, couldn't have known, but he should have. He should have realized what he was feeling, that it was actually bad, that his actions, always, were the wrong ones and so was this. He should have known he couldn't do anything right. Not even to help the Archivist.

A soft touch on his shoulder pulled his attention back. It was Sasha this time, pressing her cheek to his jumper as her arms snaked as far around him as she could manage. Tim was back, determinedly pulling him in, resting his chin on top of his head. Martin was so used to being the "big spoon" in hugs, always the giver, never the receiver, that he almost began crying again at the sensation. 

His hand, irresistibly, found his way to his chest, gripping his recorder through his jumper. All the fear, the trauma, the terror and sadness he felt from reading the statements…he knew that's what the Archivist felt too, reliving it in the dreams. And there was no escape from that. 

Punishment. 

He hadn't been helping him at all.

"You can just…move back in here, right?" Martin straightened at Melanie's awkward and hesitant words, trying to focus on her through tear streaked glasses. Sasha plucked them off his face to clean against her jumper. "I mean, I'm guessing he doesn't have time to dream invade when there's someone here, since it didn't happen to me until after the whole worm thing was over and you moved out." She shrugged. "Just an idea."

"She's right," Martin agreed, taking back his glasses. “If it keeps the Archivist out of people’s dreams, I’ll stay here again.” It wouldn't be comfortable, even without the threat of impending worms, but it was worth it.

"Or!" Tim stubbornly interjected. "You could stop reading the statements!"

"That's not going to help the people who've already had their statements read," Martin shot back. "Or the Archivist. He needs the statements. And if the only way to keep him out of their dreams is for someone to be here, then it'll be me. I'm the one who caused it."

"You‒" Tim cut himself off and made a visible effort to calm down, moving back and taking deep breaths. "I'm not mad at you," he said mostly to himself, hands clenching into fists. "I'm not. I'm just… _frustrated_ …that you're so willing to just jump into situations like this. Why can't you think about yourself for once?"

"I am thinking about myself," Martin said stubbornly. "I'm thinking it's my fault and I'm the one who should deal with the consequences."

"Ignore them," he heard Sasha say to Melanie, leading her aside. "Let them argue it out. How'd your library research go?"

"But there's still danger down here," Tim hissed at him. "I can feel it! It's not Leitner‒ and I don't think it's the Archivist either!" he hurried to add when he saw the look on Martin's face. "There's something else. It's not safe to spend time alone down here."

"The Archivist is looking out for us," Martin stubbornly reminded him. "It'll be easier to do that if we're staying here."

"But Leitner just showed that there are ways around him." Tim pointed out, and sighed heavily. "That's legitimately terrifying to think about."

"That's why the Archivist has you," Martin said carefully. It did make sense, given Tim's overprotectiveness ‒ it wasn't all coming from the Archivist, but it was amplified by him. He just didn't want to invoke his rage by pointing it out. "You protect us from what he can't, you're good at it. You should be staying here too."

Despite himself, Tim smiled a little at that. "Shameless flattery won't help you now," he insisted. "Somehow, I don't think those things are scared off by someone like me."

"Well, if you want to keep an eye on me, that's the only way," Martin stubbornly insisted. "You won't keep me out otherwise. This is my fault, so I have to do whatever I can to help."

There was nothing Tim could say that would shake him, nothing he could do to stop him from moving back in. The guilt was too strong, barely tempered with the knowledge that he could put a stop to the worst of it. It had still happened, to the Archivist and all the statement-givers. He had to make it right.

And somewhere, deep down, he wondered why the Archivist had never haunted his dreams. He'd given him a statement after all. It didn't sound like he had any control over it, so why hadn't he appeared in his nightmares? Would it be worth feeling trapped by Prentiss again, if only to finally get a glimpse of the Archivist?

"What are you talking about?" Sasha's raised voice drew his attention. Sasha was staring at Melanie in baffled confusion. "Rosie's up at her desk right now, you walked past her to get here." She turned to the two of them. "Rosie's been here every day the last few weeks, right?"

"Course," Tim agreed. "Pretty sure Elias keeps her chained to her desk, she's always there."

"Then who was at her desk the first time I was here?" Melanie was getting frustrated again, Martin could hear it in her voice. "That lady said her name was Rosie too, do you have a collection of them or something?"

"She was here the first time you stopped by too," Martin cut in with certainty. "Rosie never takes a day off, I think it's only happened twice since I've started working here. It had to be Rosie."

"There's no way," Melanie said with a chuckle. "I think this place is scrambling your minds if you can't see it. I don't know who that person is, but that's not the Rosie I met."

With a heart-stopping click, every recorder turned on at once, making them all freeze in place. The sound of static rose in the air, filling the Archives with a pressure that made it hard to breathe, hair-raising and wrong. Unbidden, Martin's eyes moved up, fixing on the point high in the wall where, if he could see through stone and wood, he would see the Institute's front desk.

"What did she look like?" Sasha whispered. "The first Rosie you saw. Describe her."

"Um…middle aged, kinda hippie witchy vibe to her." Melanie hesitantly described the person she had seen, and with every word, the pervading wrongness rose higher and higher. The woman she was describing was nothing like the grandmotherly old lady Martin knew was currently sitting at the desk.

"That's…" Tim choked out when she was done. "That's not‒"

" _That's Not Rosie,_ " the Archivist finished. The static died down, but it was still there in the air around them, a trap waiting to be sprung. Martin could feel it in every one of his limbs, tight and ready to snap. 

At least they knew what the danger was now.

~*~

" _TIM NO!_ "

The words screamed out from every recorder with no warning, making Martin jump to his feet in horrified realization. He was right, Tim had been too quiet that afternoon, after they'd finally put together the connection between the table that had been delivered months ago and the monster upstairs. After weeks of having to walk calmly past the creature sitting at the front desk, it was only a matter of time before Tim took things into his own hands. And from the sound of things, it hadn't gone well.

Frantic with concern, Martin hurried from the Archivist's office where he'd been recording, grabbing the largest recorder on the way. Sasha was on her feet behind her desk, standing frozen in shock, and he quickly reached her side. They stood there, trying to understand what had happened, as the recorders all hissed and whined in unison. Martin stared at the ceiling as the pressure and static increased, seeming to come from everywhere at once, warping oddly in the air.

"What's going on?" Sasha whispered. "He said he was going to get takeout, he was supposed to wait‒" 

Her words were cut off by the most inhuman shriek Martin had ever heard. It echoed down from floors above, sending fear down his spine as he clutched Sasha and the recorder. There was only one thing he could think of making that noise.

Sasha sucked in a hissing breath. "Tell me he didn't‒" 

"I think he did," Martin cut her off, heading towards the door. Before he could reach it, it opened, and a dazed-looking Tim stumbled into the Archives, clutching an axe. Through the closing door, Martin could see bright and clashing colors, and heard the tail end of familiar laughter.

"Tim!" Sasha dove to his side, carefully maneuvering around the axe. "What happened?"

"I, uh, broke the table," Tim ground out, still looking befuddled. "I‒ I think that was a bad idea, Michael‒" he gave his head a rough shake, focusing with a gasp. "Fuck, Michael was there too, he said he was watching it, that the table was holding it back and I‒"

He was stopped by another screech from the creature, but it was so much worse, because it was calling his name.

" _Timothy_?" It's voice was a parody of a person's. It barely sounded like Rosie at all. "Where did you go, my dear? I must express my gratitude to you!"

Tim's face was deathly pale and terrified. "We have to get out of here," he whispered. Martin could barely hear him over the warbling static that was flooding his ears. "We can lose it in the tunnels‒"

"Or we can get lost there too!" Sasha snapped back. "I haven't explored them in weeks, they could have changed by now‒"

"So what, we should stay here and _die_?" Tim hysterically demanded. He grabbed her hand and began towing her towards the trapdoor. "Martin, come on!"

"But‒ the Archives." He knew, deep in his brain, that the monster would settle for destroying the recorders and the Archives in their absence. Even as he thought it, the recorder in his arms pulsed, nearly pushing him backwards as he stumbled over his own feet. The Archivist wanted him out too, wanted him as far away from the thing that was tearing through the corridors overhead, but he didn't want to go, didn't want to leave the Archivist to fend for himself against that thing.

It went both ways.

"Martin come on!" Tim begged, but his words were drowned out by a roar, closer than the previous. The recorders all responded with a squealing wail of their own and then‒ stopped. All of them, clicking off at the same time, even the one on his arms. Even the static died.

The only sound that could be heard was heavy footsteps, slowly descending the stairs. "Timothy?" Not-Rosie sing-songed as she came closer. "Where are you, my dear? You can't hide from me down here."

Martin fell to his knees behind the nearest desk, nearly dropping the silent recorder in his haste. He heard Sasha and Tim scrambling for cover over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. He couldn't move, his legs were shaking and his mind was nearly blank with panic. All he could think of was the tension coursing in his veins, the calm before the storm, the breath you held right before the jump. 

The doors clicked open. "Where have all the lovely Assistants gone?" Not-Rosie called in, voice echoing eerily around the room. "What can you do, with no Archivist to protect you?" He could feel her gaze over every inch of the room, like fingers being rubbed the wrong way across his skin. "What can you do but _hide_?"

Martin saw Tim from the corner of his eye, frantically mouthing at him to move. He shook his head minutely. He couldn't move, or it would see him.

"Such a shame," Not-Rosie sighed. "No fun playing hide-and-seek with the Eye. It always cheats. A small price to pay, though, for it to _watch_ as I rip you apart under its gaze." Martin couldn't stop the noise that choked from his throat. He felt the gaze swing over to him, and suddenly realized that with the vantage of the stairs, it could see him over the desk. He ducked, but it was too late.

"I see you." 

Martin sprung to his feet, recorder gripped tight, ready to run. Between one shuddering breath and another, the Not-Rosie locked eyes with him, a monstrous shadow of the woman it had pretended to be. It grinned, and stepped into the Archives.

The moment she crossed the threshold, Martin heard a familiar sound‒ the clicking of the tape recorder buttons, amplified, again and again. It seemed to echo around the room, and the monster’s words began to repeat back to it.

" _I see you." "I see you." "I see you." "I see you." "I see you."_ ”

“What‒?” Not-Rosie stared around the room, looking for the source. Martin could see dozens of recorders, on desks and shelves and any flat surface, all on and spitting words and static into the air, filling his ears with the cacophony. The words picked up speed and volume, merging together into one voice. One very familiar voice coming from the recorder in his arms.

“ ** _I see you_**.”

Not-Rosie staggered like they’d been slapped. "What is this? How‒”

“ ** _I see you_** ,” the Archivist’s voice continued. “ ** _I KNOW You_**.” 

“NO‒” Not-Rosie was cut off with a gasp. It seemed to be struggling with something, like it was trying to pull away from whatever was holding it back. It was right by the door, but didn’t seem to be able to step back and reach it. Tim and Sasha were frozen too, staring in shock. The recorder in Martin’s arms was growing hot. 

“ ** _I Know you in the fear of your victims, the ones you take and the ones you leave behind._** ” The Archivist’s voice was dispassionate as always, even and steady, but Martin could hear anger around the edges. “ ** _I Know you in the fear of those who Know you here._** ” Martin shuddered as something pulled through him, stealing his breath. There was nothing but a chilling absence left behind. The monster doubled over like it’d been punched. “ ** _I Know you in your fear of this place. The fear of being Seen and being Known. You are Seen here. You are Known here. And your fear is_ Mine.**"

"No! Please!" The thing begged in Rosie's voice, but that wasn't the voice it had used before. It was the real Rosie, begging for her life. Her final words, Martin realized with painful certainty. Her true final words, being used by a monster pleading for mercy. The rage that rose in his stomach wasn't just his own.

" _ **Statement of the Not-Them, the Changeling, the One of Many Names, regarding all those that it has stolen. Statement given to the Archivist, to the Beholding, to the one that you fear the most.**_ "

The squealing noises from the tapes rose to a crescendo. The Not-Them looked like it was choking on air, still struggling in vain. It’s eyes were wide and panicked, and Martin felt the fear creeping back up his spine. But not fear of the creature.

“ ** _Statement Begins._** ”

The thing…scattered. It’s scream warbled and died in the sound of static as its form twisted and writhed and finally dissolved, like a radio signal going out of range. The squealing tape recorders quieted, and clicked off, one by one, until only the one still in Martin’s arms was still running, burning hot against his skin.

For several long minutes, Martin couldn't bring himself to move. He was panting hard, like he'd been running for his life for hours or days, even though he'd never moved. He could barely process what he'd seen, much convince his legs to move. Sasha and Tim seemed to be in a similar state, until more footsteps on the stairs had all the recorders turning on again at once. Tim swore and stumbled back to his feet, pushing past Martin and brandishing the axe, ready to face the new arrival. 

Elias stepped into view, seemingly unbothered by the sight of Tim bearing an axe. His eyes dropped to the floor, where the Not-Rosie had been standing, before they rose to focus on Martin. He did not step over the threshold. 

"When the three of you are ready," he finally said, voice far too calm and even, "I'd like to speak to you in my office." His eyes lingered on the largest recorder, still in Martin's arms. "Bring the recorders."

~*~

After Elias left, it took a few minutes for them all to stagger together and leave the Archives. The walk through the empty Institute gave them more time to regroup, and by the time they reached Elias's office, Tim was in fine form. He stormed right up to their boss's desk, and showed what Martin thought was incredible restraint by not driving the axe deep into his desk.

"Start talking, boss," he growled. "What the hell is going on here?" Elias just blinked at him, a professional frown on his face.

"I'm afraid I must express my disappointment with you three." His piercing gaze turned to Martin, still holding the largest recorder as it hissed static at him. "You have an obviously supernatural artifact that you've been interacting with and keeping in the Archives for some time without notifying me. It should clearly be in the care of Artifact Storage‒" 

"Cut the shit!" Sasha snapped, the high pitch of her voice betraying her. "We were just _attacked_! Rosie's been killed and replaced by some monster, and _you knew‒_ " Her gaze sharpened abruptly. "Oh. You did know," she realized. 

She was right, Martin could feel it. He'd known the moment Rosie was killed. Tim only needed to glance at them to confirm, before his gaze swung back to Elias. 

"Talk," he demanded, fury breaking the word in the middle. "Tell us what's going on."

In a blink, the distinguished veneer fell from Elias's face. "You don't really want to be told what's really going on, Tim" he said icily. "You want a comforting lie, an easy explanation that puts all of this to rest. You want to be told that there aren't monsters lurking in the shadows, that you aren't hearing from an inanimate object that speaks neither lies or truths." He blinked and tilted his head. "Perhaps this is a bad reaction to the stress of a new job, hmm? Or latent trauma due to losing Danny." 

Tim flinched back a step. Sasha caught him with a hand on his back, her furious stare still on Elias. 

“Rosie is dead,” she spat bitterly. “For months now. _You knew_. Why?” Elias’s eyes slid over to hers, and he smiled patronizingly. 

“Come now, you've all heard of the phrase 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer'." He leaned over his desk, steepling his fingers together as his eyes moved over them all. "It is better to have a Stranger in your sight rather than out of it.” His eyes flicked between them all, catching their reactions, and a smirk crossed his lips. “I see the Archivist has told you about the Entities. I wondered. What else has he told you?"

"You knew about him?" His voice wavered, but Martin met Elias's eyes with a glare of his own.

"About the Archivist? Of course I did Martin, don't be silly." He lazily held his hand out, and Martin took a step back, clutching the recorder to his chest. "Martin. I cannot allow you to continue communicating with him. Gertrude kept him silenced for a reason, and she was very right to do so."

"What are you talking about?" Tim snapped, fingers tightening around the axe handle. 

"The Archivist needs statements to sustain himself, and he will get them however he can take them. From the unwilling, if needed." His eyes focused on Martin, and he felt the deeply unsettling feeling of being _Seen_ , without the comfort of the Archivist. "Haven't you wondered why you're so compelled to read them out loud every day? Haven't you thought about _why_ Gertrude kept people away from the Archives, even Assistants, in time? The Archivist is far more dangerous than you know."

With a sudden movement, he reached across the desk to snatch the recorder from Martin's loosened arms. "Really, if I had known you were this close to him I would have stepped in and discouraged this behavior earlier." He turned the recorder in his hands, drawing pained squeals from it. "As it is, I really must put an end to this now. There are far more important issues to attend to."

"The Unknowing," Sasha piped up. Elias sent his pleased smirk her way.

"Why yes, Ms. James. I hope you've been researching it on your own, and not simply going on the Archivist's word. His sight is limited, you know." His fingers drummed against the plastic. "I believe we have some time, but there is a deadline so I'd like your focus to be entirely on stopping the Unknowing."

"Why us?" Sasha asked. "This is seriously above our paygrade. Aren't there other people out there who can handle this?"

"The only people who know of the Unknowing are other servants of entities who have their own rituals to complete, or minions of the Stranger who wish to see it fulfilled." He tilted his head at them. "Or would you rather the world ended?' 

"This is not our job." Tim's anger was being held back by a quickly fraying thread. Martin moved out of his way as he stalked closer. "We didn't sign up for any of this, and yet _you're_ the one who threw us in." He shifted his grip on the axe. "I should‒"

"You really shouldn't." Elias grinned in his face. "Or Sasha and Martin will die with me." He blinked calmly, as if Tim wasn't still frozen with the axe in front of his face. "And yourself, although I believe at that point you rather won't care."

A tense moment of silence passed. "What are you talking about?" Tim snarled. Elias grinned wider.

"I'm talking about my position as the head of this Institution and by extension it's Archive. As a patron of the Beholding I am given some…advantages. One such advantage is that my death will lead to the deaths of anyone tied to the Institute." His eyes trailed over them. "And as the Archivist's Assistants, you three would most certainly qualify."

"You're full of shit."

"Then do it," Elias snapped. "Kill me and watch the only two people you love die with me." He sneered into Tim's horrified face. "Don't you remember how it feels?"

For a moment there was silence, then Tim was falling to his knees with a pained shout that dissolved into deep heaving sobs. "Tim!" Martin and Sasha shouted, rushing to his side as he clutched his head, half wailing and half sobbing. "What are you doing to him?!" Sasha screamed at Elias, who was watching with that horrible pleased grin.

"I simply showed him _exactly_ what happened to his brother." Elias's eyes glinted watching Tim's agony. "Every excruciating detail. And there's so much more pain I can bring. To all of you."

"No," Tim gasped, panting with effort as he straightened. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he reached out, pulling Martin and Sasha closer, moving them behind him. "Don't you dare. Not to them."

"Then I think it's best that you listen to me and do as you're told." Elias smirked like Tim's reaction was exactly what he wanted. "Your Archivist can't protect you from everything, you know."

"You better hope you're right," Martin shot back at him, fury rising over his fear. "I'm sure the reason you didn't step into the Archives was so you didn't get your shoes dirty." He'd seen it, the hesitation, and while he was sure Elias had been careful not to show it, he had been hesitant to step into the Archivist's Archives. The glare Elias aimed at him confirmed it.

"I am on your side, Martin." He raised an eyebrow at the sound of Martin's skeptical snort, but continued. "I understand your caution towards me, but you should show even more towards the Archivist. " He paused, staring into his eyes, but Martin stood firm under his stare, one hand on his recorder under his jumper. He could feel it humming, heated against his skin. He wouldn't be the one who blinked first.

Elias's eyes dropped to his hand, and a smirk crossed his lips. "The Archivist hasn’t told you how he came to be in the state he's in, has he?" His eyes flicked back up to Martin's and held them. "Would you like to know?"

"No," Martin whispered, but it was too late.

"The Archivist was threatened by the thought of losing his position, too taken in by the all knowledge at his disposal and the power it gave to him." Elias's voice was icy, still staring into his eyes. "He delved deep into the Archives and attempted the ritual of the Beholding, the Watcher's Crown." A smirk curled his lips. "As you can no doubt tell, it failed, or else it is quite likely that the three of you would never have been born. That failure led to his death, or something akin to it." His fingers trailed over the largest recorder. "I suppose the Beholding saw that death after such a failure was far too kind."

"You're‒" Martin choked out. "You're lying. He wouldn't…"

"Wouldn't he, Martin?" Elias hissed at him. "But of course, you know him so well, his _intentions_ , his _desires_." A trace of mocking slipped into his tone. "Surely by now, you know when someone is telling a lie."

He did. And Elias wasn't. 

"Now," Elias held out his hand. "Hand over your recorder as well, Martin. I'd rather keep any ways of communication with him at a minimum."

"No‒" Martin protested, but it was useless when Tim's arm snapped out and snatched his recorder from his pocket. He slammed it on Elias's desk, red-rimmed eyes focused into a deadly glare.

"Careful, boss," he snarled. "The Archivist already ate one monster today. Be a shame if he did the same to you."

Elias's pleased little smirk finally vanished. "Thank you for your concern," he said dryly. "I suggest you all take some time off, to process this. As long as you need." His voice dripped with false concern. "Have a good night."

Martin was sure Tim was about to take a swing at him‒ was considering doing it himself to get the recorders back‒ but Tim instead looped his arm in his. With Sasha still gripping him tightly, they left the office as one. Martin made sure to kick the door closed much harder than necessary. 

They made their way down to the Archives in silence, Martin making a quick detour to the break room to grab the ice pack from the freezer. His recorder was already back on his desk when they stepped into the main room, and he quickly hurried over to it. It was undamaged, but there was no tape. 

" _Bastard,_ " Tim hissed as he carefully sat in his chair, Sasha hovering around him. Martin hurried over to put the ice pack against the back of his neck, and Tim groaned in relief. His hands reached out, finding whichever part of them closest and hanging on tight. "We should have known," he whispered hoarsely. "Should have known he was involved in this."

"Of course he was." Sasha pulled his head to rest against her stomach, fingers rubbing his temples. Her eyes were staring off into space, no doubt going over everything their boss had said. All the little comments and knowing looks over the past year were suddenly standing out in stark obviousness. "And now we know it for sure." She blinked, and met Martin's eyes over Tim's head. "We can figure this out too," she said firmly. Martin wasn't sure if she meant Elias, or the Unknowing, or about the new revelations about the Archivist, but he nodded in agreement anyway.

"We can figure it out later, when you’re not in danger of getting your brains ripped apart." Tim’s chest was heaving with emotion, eyes staring up to where Elias’s office was. "The Archivist got rid of one problem, but now we know there’s another one. A bigger danger. The biggest _prick_." His voice was dripping with venom. Martin was very glad the anger was no longer directed at him, or the Archivist. 

"I will say, you two did a great job distracting him." Martin was about to ask what she was talking about when he realized she had a hand down her shirt, and looked away quickly. Tim stared in confusion before barking out a laugh.

"Sasha James, you didn't."

"I did, Timothy Stoker," Sasha shot back. "I most certainly did." To Martin's surprise, she pulled her recorder out from her blouse. "Lucky I thought to wear a sports bra today."

"That's why you were so quiet," Martin realized. Sasha nodded at him as she rewound the recorder. They waited breathlessly for it to finish, to prove that they had it all on tape. Martin could feel Tim trembling next to him, either from lingering trauma or pure Stoker rage, and reached out to tuck his arm around him. It was barely enough, he knew, not after what Elias did. What he could still do to them. Or worse.

But they had the Archivist, one way or another. Who Martin still trusted, despite Elias's words. Who cared for them with a strength he could almost feel it at times. Who had just proved how far he could go to save them. No matter what Elias said, or whatever he did, there was nothing that could shake how Martin felt about him.

Sasha finished rewinding, and pressed "Play" with a shuddering breath. They all listened, and their eyes met in stunned disbelief, as Elias began speaking with a voice that wasn't his.

It was Jonah Magnus's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god what a surprise.
> 
> I'm sorry Leitner managed to sneak under the "Everybody Lives" tag. I'll see what I can do about it.


End file.
